Anniversaries mark the remembrance of events in one’s life. For every person in existence, there’s always something worth being an anniversary. But not all anniversaries are entirely pleasant memories.
I have seen people celebrate death anniversaries, especially of loved ones. And I don’t think it’s entirely a beautiful celebration cause it only brings back the pain and anguish of losing a loved one. That gap in the heart is one that doesn’t ever completely get filled up.
Today, I want to tell you about my dad’s anniversary of survival. You might already be putting up some thoughts already. Anyway, just listen to my story and at the end of it, you can check if you guessed it rightly.
It was my second term in my first year in Senior Secondary School and that beautiful morning, I and my younger brother had already gone to school after carrying out our morning cleanup routine at home.
Based on the report I got from my mum, around 8am in the morning, both she and my dad were finally ready to go to the store and open up for the day. He has actually been waiting for her inside his car. When she finally came around, she noticed he was looking quite pale. When she asked him, he admitted to not feeling entirely alright that morning and decided to go back into the house and lay down for some minutes.
After about 30 minutes, he got up saying he’d be fine and they both drove off to the store. Within the 40 minutes between our house and our store, my dad’s health started deteriorating so badly he was just struggling to make it to the store. On getting to the store, my mum rushed out to get him a chair to sit on. He barely sat before he started sliding to the floor. He was fainting and getting paler so much that my mum raised an alarm.
Our neighbour intervened and drove my dad to the hospital. It’s funny how a person’s world can completely change in one day, actually, in a matter of minutes and hours. That day was June 7, about 8 years ago. My dad ended up being hospitalized for a month +. He lost a lot of weight and was so bony.
When I came home from school that day, I was told what had happened. Then I went to see him. At the first sight of him, I broke down in tears because he looked like death really came knocking. But I made sure to pray for him while pleading with the doctors to make sure my dad came back home alive. 8 years later, my dad is a survivor.
He was given a title in our native language as someone who defeated death. And it has stuck since then. Every June 7 is very special to me because I’ll always remember that it was the day my dad survived a life-taking attack and stayed with me. And I’ll forever give thanks for that.
I look forward to this year’s June 7. It’s going to be a full day of Thanksgiving to God and celebration of life. Well, just a family celebration.
