Memories are like dreams; they appear very blur in our minds like a dream of the night, in remembrance of those good days spent with a loving father. Sometimes I wish I could reverse and turn the hand of time back to those days at least once again.

I once had a man in my life who meant a heaven to me, whose presence in my life up till this day can never be replaced. One whose words built me with strength. I spent most of my young days with him growing up. He loved telling me stories of how he made it in life and what challenges he faced.

Each time we sat together in our sitting room, he would always pull out his wine drink from the wall bar, pour the liquid into a glass, and hand one glass over to me. Then he would begin saying: "Ekpez" (calling me by name), "I have had many experiences in this world I was born into, and I have come to know that the most fearful people you will ever have in your life are friends. Always be afraid of them, because a close friend will always know the secret of his friend, but an enemy will not know."

He would look me right in the eyes and say: "I know that in this your generation, friends are so valued; even if I know you will keep them, please be careful never to tell your stories to them, because friends are worse than enemies. There is nothing as difficult as seeing a one-time friend becoming an enemy, because people don't love forever; for that reason, don't tell your secrets to them those secrets will become a weapon against you someday."

He would then smile and take a sip from his glass. "Drink, Ekpez! You are growing to become a man. Your downfall begins when you make the wrong choice of woman for a wife. It will be like needles in your veins and like boils in the bones." He withdrew my mother’s picture from his drawer and said, "Your mother has helped me build this life, and now in this state of mine where a glorious home seems to be calling, if I am gone today, I have no regret I met a woman like her."

At this point, I started wondering why he spoke of a glorious home, but I didn't ask any question. My mind was on every word, but one particular word bothered me enough: "Glorious Home." He reached for the remote upon the middle glass and turned on his television. I was so bothered, then I asked him, "PAP!" (as I usually called him), "are you planning to die?" He laughed and asked me, "Were you planning to live forever?" I replied, "If possible."

Then he moved to hold my shoulder and said: "If you come to love this world so much that you desire to live forever, then you will forget yourself! No matter who and what you will someday become, irrespective of that, all flesh must die someday and the body be fixed inside a tight design box if men so love you. And you will go home with nothing but a torn cloth. So is the future of every living."

He added: "There is a worse fate than death; death is just a doorway to another life. The case after death is the remembrance of who you were in the material world." He smiled and said: "Try hard to live your life with no hate and take every man as one in love, but be as wise as a serpent, but gentle as a dove."

All flesh must die someday

It happened that one day when I returned from duty, as I stepped into the parlor, I saw my siblings seated folding their hands, and I asked what was the problem. My elder sister pointed her finger to my dad's room, and I went in.

He was lying down in his bed well-dressed, like he had an occasion to attend.   I called: "Pap! What is the problem?" He lifted up his face and replied, "Ekpez! You are back," with a very low voice, almost speaking from the dream world. And I replied, "Yes!" Then he said: "I have lived and I have fulfilled my days; the living are left to fulfill theirs.

I am happy that you are here. Please remember all that I ever told you. And also remember that your mother is your first love; don't exalt any woman above her. You will only have one mother, just as you have had me, and now I am about to... to..." I held his hands, and he looked at me, but no words again from his mouth.   I watched him slowly drop his left hand, and the right hand I was holding went cold. He closed his eyes and slept. That was the last second, minute, hour, and day I ever spoke to my loving father. And each day, I keep remembering his words, and the story ends with: WE WILL SEE AGAIN, SOMEDAY!