Dad (Lawrence Otika) in his element at a workshop.

A page is flipped through the family album, either trying to find or add a picture. As we indulge in conversation, accompanied by a range of expressions and emotions evoked by familiar and unfamiliar memories. A few pages later, down memory lane, something recurring catches my attention; I'd seen it before but never thought enough about it to ask. This time, I was moved to ask my mother what the recurring X sign on the pictures meant. She explained, in a nutshell, that it was something she did to indicate someone was no longer alive.

X. A symbol that signifies an entity whose existence is over, past or gone. A concept of loss that I seem detached from, until these past few years.

10th October 2022, I saw a friend’s story on Instagram. It was a picture of her and someone we both knew. At first, I was not sure I really understood the text accompanying the picture. Maybe it was a misunderstanding on my part, or me just being in denial. So I called her not really for an explanation, but for reassurance that I had indeed misread or misunderstood the text. But no. What I understood of the text was exactly what it was. That Tashinga, popularly known as Tash, the person she was embracing in the picture, was no longer physically on this earth. A realisation that caused grammatical confusion because I found myself not knowing whether to refer to him in the present or in the past tense. Given that he was here at one point and is not now.  

Ergül Abla walking in Belgrade forest after Dunamis hangout

So again, I found myself in the same position I was in when I heard of Ergül Abla’s passing in February 2020. In shock at my work desk, I tried to control the many thoughts going through my head while simultaneously holding back the tears and focusing on the tasks at hand. A part of me wanted to let my emotions take over, but it was neither the place nor the time to be vulnerable. So I held on to the entire roller coaster of chemical reactions in my body until I was in the privacy of my emotions.

Sitting there at the office desk, I went back and forth between which reality ached the most: the pain of a life ending, or the end of a connection and relationship once had. 

And just like my aunt Mama Achani in April 2021, grandma in January and my childhood friend Lynn in February of 2022, I found myself unsure how to grieve. Not knowing which emotions to let take over, because in those very moments, the questions and prayers seemed to outweigh the tears.

Lynn on holiday sometime right after finishing primary school.

The finality of an occurrence. An end of a journey. The thought of all the moments shared just coming to a halt led to emotions rushing in, rendering all reasoning null.

For once death decides, it hovers over a life or lives until everything in its tracks comes to an end. And the closer the connection, the harder it hits.

Newborn baby Pa Rwot born on Christmas Day

So when death took my nephew in December 2025 and my father in May 2026, a span of 5 months. The sting of loss ran so deep it seemed to have paralysed and numbed some parts of me. Parts that wanted to sob, scream and seclude were sucked into the parts of me that had to be strong so that they could have a befitting send-off.

A farewell I wished life would have given us a chance to bid face-to-face. And now that you're gone, I find myself navigating how to come to terms with your absence. A reality that is like uncharted waters, which I now find myself fully immersed in and unwillingly having to stay afloat. 

Death, a serial thief, who with or without warning robs from those it takes away and those it leaves behind. A robbery that we sometimes hope will come a bit later, perhaps when we are somewhat prepared. Yet when it does, we are still caught off guard because procrastination has us leaving living for later, as though later is guaranteed. 

But as life is now, so is death. 

For each time the second arm of the clock ticks, the breath of life leaves a body somewhere in this damned world. People who were once part of the pictures of our lives depart, only to remain in timeless photos and no longer exist in real time. An occurrence we are never prepared for, but we always have to be ready for. 

Family and friends accompanying Dad to his final resting place.

Maybe one way Mum chose to come to terms with this bitter reality was by drawing an X on their faces, a form of acceptance or a way of letting go. And in wondering, I question my own dealings with this part of life called death. Because just like the family album, my personal album of significant memories is now starting to have invisible X's on them.

So I ask myself,

How do I go on living when life somewhere comes to an end?

How do I face this mountain I don’t know how to climb?

How do I remember the person but forget the pain?

Beneath gloomy skies and a downpour of grief, I wander through this landscape of unanswered questions. Drenched in emotional rain, blended with tears of pain and joy. The former streaming from realities I struggle to reconcile and wounds that remain unhealed. The latter an expression of gratitude for the gift of crossing paths with some of God’s finest creations, whose very presence was a testament to divine connection.

So until all is made perfect, I hold on to the hope that our paths will cross again in glory. 

For death is not a finality but a pathway into an existence beyond the now. 

Grandma (Abuba) 's grave site.

Dear precious soul,

Even before time, your lifetime was already determined. 

Whether small or big, you leave behind a legacy that will continue on long after you’ve gone ahead into the other side of eternity. 

For it is not how long one lives but the impact made in the time lived that remains.

In Living & Loving Memory of Emmanuel Pa Rwot, Lawrence Otika, and all loved ones we have lost.

Legacy Lives On