My Father Spoke to My Dead Mother Until He Died

My mom died when she was sixty-two years old. She died a few days before their thirty-seventh wedding anniversary. My dad didn’t cry, but he lost his voice. He said a few words and nodded to the rest. It got worse when my mom was buried. We were all scared that my dad wouldn’t live long after losing someone like my mom, his only true companion.

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At seventy-eight, ten clear years after my mom died, Dad got sick and was immobile. He was in a wheelchair and needed someone with him all the time. We hired someone to take care of him, but I was always with him. When he was alone, he would be whispering to himself, saying things you would only hear if you gave him your ears.

He called my mom’s name every minute and talked to her as if she was sitting close to him. He would ask, “Where’s my food?” A few minutes later, he would say something like, “You didn’t put salt in the soup?” I looked at him and said to myself, “Awww, he’s missed his wife.”

In his mind, he was still living with his wife and talked to her every day. Doctors said I shouldn’t worry; it was normal. He was living through memories, and that was fine.

Some days, he would laugh out loud and say, “Oh, that was too funny. I wonder why Agya Adu allowed you to do that.” Agya Adu was my mom’s dad.

One evening, he started shouting and trying to get on his feet and walk. He got up and fell, but he kept shouting, “You better run, because if I get you, you won’t laugh again in your life.”

He hardly recognized my presence or called me by name, but that day he said, “Abena, you better talk to your mom. If not, all of you will pack your things and leave my house.”

I sat next to him and pretended I was advising my mom. “Don’t do that, Mom. If Dad sacks us, where will we go?” He retorted, “Tell her. Without me, she has nobody.”

A few minutes later, he calmed down and dozed off. He died the next day. I woke up and saw him relaxed, with almost a smile on his face. You might think he was dreaming, but he had been dead for hours.

My mom was an orphan when my dad brought her in to have a place to live. They had my elder brother before they got married. All my life, I never saw them fighting or even exchanging harsh words. Mom always had a smile on, and Dad always was a dad.

The first fight I witnessed was the one he had with her before he died the next day. If indeed he was living off his memories, then that fight indeed happened, but where were we that we didn’t see it?

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It taught me only one lesson: that no marriage is without fights and misunderstandings, but it’s how you handle them that counts. Because of my dad and mom, I know what love is, and I understand how marriage ought to be lived. I might not end up with a man like my dad, and I might not be like my mom in marriage, but the understanding I have about marriage and the side of marriage I witnessed with my own eyes give me a solid foundation to stand on, and this will help with the choices I make when the time comes.

why do men refuse help even when they’re breaking?

—Abena

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