Octave

There are dates that the calendar remembers, and there are dates that the heart refuses to forget. The 7th of June is one of such days for me. Once upon a time, it was my birthday. A day of laughter, greetings, prayers, and celebration. A day when family and friends gathered to rejoice over another year of life. But six years ago, the meaning of that day changed forever. On that fateful day, I was preparing for what should have been a memorable birthday celebration. Pots were on fire. People were cooking. A live goat had been slaughtered. The atmosphere was festive. We were expecting her arrival from Lagos. She arrived. But not in the manner we had hoped. She came to us and gave up the ghost. And just like that, my birthday ceased to be a birthday. Since that day, I have struggled with dates. Birthdays slip away unnoticed. Anniversaries lose their significance. Eventful days no longer carry the excitement they once did. Perhaps grief has a way of rearranging the mind. Perhaps when a tr...