It was surprisingly cool for a December afternoon. The sun retreated behind the clouds, and for once, even the wind was not totally dry.

The leaves of the trees that kept the dead cool in their unending leisure swayed slightly from the refreshing breeze. More than a few browned ones amongst them were falling off gracefully, careful to land softly as if not to wake the resting souls.

They lay there silently, the dead, in their differently shaped eternal homes.

The gravestones were easy giveaways of not only how long their occupants had taken residence in the land of the quiet, but also, clues about the possible circumstances which may have surrounded the demise of their owners.

Some were barely demarcated or marked in any way. The dead in them, unceremoniously shoved down the belly of the earth.

They could have been criminals, victims of jungle justice spared with dignity only after their brutal passing. Perhaps they were strangers who went unidentified after they died. But most had headstones. Some more immaculately carved and designed than others. They bore inscriptions that told about the lives their occupants led in bits and pieces, handing out details to anyone who cared enough to read the inscriptions.

He walked right past them, barely noticing the crosses or crescents engraved on any of the graves, nor did he observe how disorganised their arrangements were.

It was almost impossible to walk five paces in any one direction before he had to sidestep a grave or the other.

He knew where he was headed by heart and did not need markers of any kind. He had only been there twice before now, the first time when she was to be buried. He remembered clearly.

The weather on that dreadful morning was anything but similar to today’s. The sun glowed fiercely in the sky and the wind seemed to be on leave.

The red mounds of soil dug up were hard and clumpy, as though the earth was unwilling to accept her body just as he was unwilling to accept her death.

The leaves did not move then; indeed, everything seemed beyond time and motion. Until she was lowered, after the pastor had given the “dust to dust” sermon so definitively that he felt like attacking the man of God for taking away his last solace against the reality. That he was merely dreaming. But he was not.

The second time was six months later. It was a day when it seemed the heavens chose to mourn with him. He struggled at some point to tell apart his tears from the heavy raindrops that joined them in flooding his face.

The clouds were heavy and dark, appearing as though they were bearing down to cloak him with the nothingness he desired so much. Today would be different, he told himself. He did not hear the faraway cries of birds in the trees as the wind rustled the leaves a little faster.

He would not cry today, he promised himself again. After all, did he not bring her good news this time around? And even if the pain of losing her would remain always fresh with him, he felt he was learning to live with it without letting it tear him down too often as it did before.

He knew he would smile when he said her name, just as he smiled at the gatekeepers at the graveyard’s gates that seemed to never be locked and at the girl at the floral shop who did not know what flowers one should buy when visiting his dead wife.

He smiled then because he did not know either, and because he knew she would find it funny that he only brought her flowers now she was dead. Once, when they were younger and yet to marry, he offered to buy her flowers, but she laughed him off, asking in faint, loving mockery what she was to do with flowers after smelling them like they did in the movies.

Her luminous eyes twinkled with another laugh about to splutter from her as she told him not to waste his money on such and they went on to buy other things instead.

He found it difficult to think of any other gifts he could get her now and trust the grave keepers not to take from her even before he got to his car just a few feet outside the cemetery.

He held the bright-colored flowers close to his face, hoping they still smelled as nice as they did at the shop, and was not surprised he found himself remembering what she smelled like.

It was a scent that would always torment him now, even as much as it comforted and pleased him when she was with him. She always smelled like a soft mixture of honey, malt and vanilla.

He remembered how easily her smell relaxed him and how easily he would get sleepy if he leaned too close to her without them conversing as they sometimes did when watching movies together.

He still kept her bottles of perfumes by her dressing mirror in their room just as she left them, but they never really did smell exactly like her.

He trudged on quietly, his boots snapping the occasional dried twig as he walked. He was almost there. His heart began to beat a little faster. He started to feel like an athlete out of breath after completing a sprint. He could not tell whether he was excited, anxious or just plain frightened to see her grave again.

To talk to her while she only listened, and he imagined what her responses would be. To tell her how much he missed her and how life held less light for him without her by his side, without her bright, twinkling eyes smiling at him.

He longed to tell her how he often forgot to eat and frequently would stare at the ceiling of their bedroom without seeing it, without thinking, just staring for long periods.

To tell her how much he desired sleep because only in his dreams did he seem to see her as vividly as he felt her presence.

He had to tell her how difficult it was for him to fall asleep since she no longer slept beside him. He most of all desired to sit in silence with her, to feel her presence in the soft swish of the wind. To see her smiling radiantly as he placed the flowers by her headstone, he longed to be with her like never before. He hastened his footsteps.

She had a weak heart. The middle-aged doctor with well-groomed short hair that was obviously dyed black announced to him that dreadful afternoon.

He remembered staring at the neatly arranged pens hooked to the breast pocket of her immaculate white overall, wondering why she needed three different coloured pens. “It made natural birth difficult,” the doctor with the well-groomed hair said, “the heart condition.”

They were preparing her for a Caesarian Section. It was nothing unusual, a regular procedure in situations like this. His wife and newborn child would be safe in a few hours, the short-bespectacled doctor assured him.

However, when she returned about a couple of hours later - dressed this time in blue operating gear and a white face mask hanging below her jaw -without her confident smile- he did not need to be told something was wrong.

For a brief moment, he prayed it was the baby and not her before immediately hating himself and praying they were both safe. Neither prayer was answered.

Even at that very moment, as the doctor gave him the news, he knew he would always hate himself for that wish. Her condolence sounded so impersonal and perfunctory. He was sure she had the words memorised from years of experience. They were words which distanced her from his grief politely.

The infant was fine. The doctor told him his baby weighed three kilograms and was perfectly healthy. She had a head full of curly black hair and dimples, just like her mother, who did not survive the ordeal of her birth.

He could not remember the details of her death as the doctor gave them hastily while his sight gradually became hazy. She probably mentioned something about blood loss and the pre-existing heart condition. But he was not capable of listening then.

He remembered asking if he could see her and being told to hold on a little longer. He remembered looking at the rest of the people in the hospital and wondering why they kept on doing whatever they were doing. Did they not hear what the doctor just said? Did they not know she had just died? Did it not matter?

He wanted to scream in their faces; to punch a wall; to shove aside the little woman with her grey-rimmed eyeglasses and run into the operating theatre. He knew he could wake her up. All she needed was to hear his voice begging her not to leave them, not to leave him. But he did none of those things.

Instead, he turned around and walked out of the hospital, hands shaking violently from the shock of the news. His world tilted and spun wildly around him. He was sure he would vomit.

He remembered managing to get to his car. But it was only as far as he could get before collapsing into a heap of tears. It turned out to be the first of many similar breakdowns for him ever since.

He cried nothing like the quiet tears one would expect from a grieving grown man. Rather, his crying was like that of a child, wailing and muttering inaudibly in an alternating manner as tears streamed down his cheeks and his nose filled up just as quickly with mucous.

He tried repeatedly to control himself, wiping his eyes and nose first with his sleeves, and even those became too wet to be used with the tail end of his shirt because every time he cleaned his face, the tears came back immediately.

His shoulders shook as he sat on the gravelled floor of the car park with his back to the tyre of his car and his legs spread apart before him. He was like that for a while before a nurse eventually found him.

He could see her now. The nurse had come to tell him. The young lady tried awkwardly to console him as she led him in, still sobbing and sniffing. He would not cry today. He felt even more sure of himself as they drew nearer to her grave. His grip, subconsciously, tightened on the flowers he held. Then with the same hand he tried to adjust his tie.

He knew he looked his best in a long time and hoped she would be impressed and just as happy to see him.

The little baby on his other arm stirred a little from her sleep, and he worried she might wake up before they got there and start to cry. He preferred she saw her first sleeping gently like the sweet little angel that she was rather than squalling loudly like the cute little imp which she could be when it suited her.

Edna. He named their little angel Edna after her mother’s favourite aunt. He wanted her to be just as proud of Edna as he was.

He had bundled Edna up nicely with clothes that repelled the cold and dryness of the morning and was thankful that the afternoon sun was not at its usual full strength; the heat might have made her tetchy.

Edna slept beautifully, just as she whom they had come to visit used to. It reminded him of days when they fell asleep together, and he would wake first to the luxury of watching her sleep, beautiful eyelashes guarding the twinkling brightness of our eyes as she rested.

He was lucky to have their baby remind him of that, regardless of the surrounding circumstances. His chest seemed to get a little heavier, they were there now. He really did not know what he expected to find but her grave looked nearly as he remembered. Except for little blackening stains at the base of the grave and a slight fading of the glimmer of the grey marble stones, the grave was mostly unchanged.

He scanned the place over to be sure nothing suspicious had been done – he heard stories of people conniving with grave keepers, paying substantially so they could be allowed to dig up the dead and use their remains for rituals that supposedly would make these people rich or powerful.

He did not notice anything different. Besides, the white gravel stones in the centre of her grave did not look like they had been disturbed either. Finally, he looked at the epitaph inscribed on her grave. He was wrong.

All his resolutions to not shed tears dissolved the moment he read her name. It brought images of her beautiful face back to him strongly, even more vividly than he could ever imagine was possible.

He saw her smile once again; her perfect white teeth and cute dimples warmed his heart; he could even perceive her unique scent and almost feel the taste and texture of her lips on his.

Then, he remembered what she looked like when he was finally allowed to see her again in the hospital on that fateful day. It was almost as if she was merely in a deep sleep. He could not believe she was, in fact, dead.

He did not want to, but he knew she was. He remembered how strange it was to see her lying on her back with her eyes closed, for she rarely ever slept in that posture, preferring instead to lay on either of her sides curled up like a fetus.

The nurse nodded gently to inquire if she could pull the blue cloth back up to cover the body totally and he signaled for her to hold on in response.

He ran his hand gently over the side of her face, partly hoping she would stir and wake up and the nurse would smile and say it was either a prank or a mistake and his wife never did die. But her body remained motionless.

Finally, the impatient nurse pulled up the cloth to cover her face and gently tried to usher him out of the room even as he tried to wipe new drops of tears from his face with the back of his palm.

Another teardrop slipped past the corner of his eye again as he sniffed. He adjusted the sleeping baby on his right arm so he could bend and place the flowers gently on the grave. Then he slowly lowered himself next to her headstone.

Their little daughter gave a small cry of protest from the change in position, and he quickly quieted her down by softly cradling her closer to his chest and patting her bottom gently while making hushing sounds.

Edna soon fell back into her sleep while he remained seated by the side of the stone, which was no more than a couple of feet tall.

He placed the side of his head next to the stone and closed his eyes, allowing himself to savour her presence in the lingering gentle movement of the wind.

Then, he knew peace again deep within himself.

Their journey back was shorter, or so it seemed to him. Daniel was filled with so much strength. His steps felt springy and light, but his heart felt even lighter in his chest.

Edna was awake now, their little angel. She had awoken sometime during his conversation with her.

Daniel told her everything. Not because he thought she did not know, for he knew strongly in his heart that she did, but because he wanted – no, needed – to share something with her before giving her the good news.

He told her about how he had learned to make baby cereal from watching online videos after he had disposed of the wet nurse hired to breastfeed Edna for the first few months; how he learned to change her diapers within a couple of weeks, and to bathe all by himself by the time she was three months old and how he finally told both his mother and his mother-in-law not to bother coming over to help with taking care of the baby in the meantime. After all, they would have more than enough time with her later on.

Daniel described the nights Edna cried loudly, kicking the air with her little feet in rebellion against whatever discomfort troubled her little self; he looked forward to such nights because they gave him something to worry about rather than lying sleeplessly for over half the night as was usually the case. Daniel described how proud he was of himself the first time he successfully put Edna to sleep in her cradle on his own, how worried sick he got when she had fever and diarrhoea during her teething period.

He shared with her the proud moments their daughter accomplished new feats for the first time, like how just a fortnight ago she walked to him all by herself without holding on to any furniture or walls for support.

He needed her to know that their beautiful daughter was growing up in good health and sound mind and that as much as he would have loved they truly shared these memories together, he would make sure they both were a part of their daughter’s life and not just a sad part.

Daniel told Edna all about her mother, too. He told her about the infectious smile which illuminated hearts, her impish sense of humour, her culinary prowess, and her unwavering love and support for him.

More importantly, Daniel told of her magnanimous heart and her sacrifice for their baby. He spoke of how much he missed and would always miss her. He made jokes only he laughed at. He knew she laughed too and really longed to hear her laugh. That hearty beguiling laugh, if only just once more.

It was getting dark. The sun was nowhere to be seen, and the evening promised a clear but deeply darkened sky. Avoiding a couple of graves which must have belonged to a couple, for they were enjoined together and of similar design. He thought to himself how lucky they were, the couple, who now rested eternally by each other’s side.

Daniel knew he was lucky to have Edna. He knew he would not have been able to survive this long if he did not have her to look after.

He wondered if the couple died together, whether they died young or both at ripe old ages where death meant only a transition of their romance from this realm to the next instead.

Edna sneezed twice, and he brought her even closer to himself. Her little head rested on his collarbone, one tiny arm around his neck and the other on the back of his shoulder. He could feel her warm breath softly on his neck. She was all he had left. Along with memories that hurt even as much as they comforted him, his daughter – their daughter- would always be his treasure, and he would get her the best she deserved as much as he could, he promised.

The graveyard’s gatekeepers looked relieved to finally see them return. Daniel had lost track of time with her and only just realised they stayed quite longer than he intended.

He dipped his hand in the side pocket of his suit and pulled out a small folded brown envelope. He gave it to the men, who beamed as they told him he should not really have worried even as they collected the envelope from him. In the manner a guest would pretend to reject food, saying they had just eaten before leaving their homes even though they would eventually finish the meal they were served.

The grave keepers prayed for him and his baby, saying that God would make the days “distant from one another.” Daniel replied with a knowing smile, saying the expected ‘amens’ and ‘thank yous’ while praising the men for their hard work.

Of course, they did very little, if anything at all, but he felt the need to be kind to them so they would be kind to her in any way possible. Or at least that was what he believed would happen.

He felt like a parent praising his child’s teacher to ensure the teacher was a tad nicer to his kid. One of the men joked about how they could not really say they hoped to see him soon, even though they did.

Daniel smiled again and told them that, indeed, they would see him soon and perhaps even more regularly, too! And it was true. Did the little blood stain on his shirt not confirm it even today, moments after he had given her the good news?

Six months. The doctor -this time, a handsome, fair-skinned young man with the physique of a heavy-weight boxer- said six months was the most he was likely to have left.

And that was over three weeks ago now. Daniel had at first thought his dizziness, constant headaches and weakened limbs were a result of him not feeding and sleeping properly and was not bothered until the nosebleeds became a recurrence. He would wake up and find blood stains on his pillow or bedsheets.

Once, at work, a colleague noticed and pointed out to him that his nose was bleeding. He was implored to have himself checked. Something-blastoma, the fair doctor said it was. A tumour at the base of his brain. Too advanced for it to be removed without him dying.

Daniel confirmed from two other hospitals in the following weeks for certainty, and they both confirmed what he knew, what he expected even -that he would struggle to live without her. When he realised it would not be long before they were united again he was overcome with such relief like nothing he knew before.

His only worry was convincing their parents to agree on which of them their baby would live with. A task he did not look forward to. For now, they must keep it to themselves, the good news. No one needed to know yet that he was dying, lest they started to treat him like a vegetable.

Daniel did not want anyone’s pity either. He already had enough of that after her death. After all, he felt the most healthy in recent weeks since she passed. He even hoped to be truly happy again, even if only for a short time.

Now that he no longer was afraid of the searing anguish and pain which the finality of her death brought him. They would soon be reunited. He had no reason not to visit her more often. Now, living looked less of a chore, an unwanted task forced upon him. Now he knew he had to live -for he could indeed live again and not just exist as he did before- for their beautiful daughter, however briefly.

Daniel opened the door to the backseat and gently placed Edna in the baby’s seat, then fastened her seatbelt. He shut the door, turned once more to the gates of the graveyard, and smiled. Daniel felt alive again. He opened the front door of his car and drove away.