Time Is All We Have
I visited an old man today. He isn't just an old man to me, he is probably the closest thing I had to a present grandfather. Scratch that, he is my grandfather. Who said direct blood links had to define these ties?
My memories of him are etched with the joy of Christmas and New Year holidays spent at his house. It was always the highlight of the year—not just for the endless playtime, but for sharing those moments with other kids in the family. Grandpa would chase us around, commanding us to finish our daily tasks before running off to play. Strict as he was, he cared deeply for us.
Adebose—the name he gave me because I was born on a Sunday. Over the years, I doubt he remembered my actual first name. To him, I was always Adebose. Every time someone from my family visited, he would ask about me. When I visited him, he never stopped calling the name. Maybe I was one of his favorites, or maybe it was because everyone said I looked like his daughter—though I never saw the resemblance.
But today was different. He couldn’t seem to remember my name, or even who I was. The pain of that realization hit in a way I hadn’t expected.
I noticed how much he’d changed. His once full and lively frame now revealed the lines of bones beneath his skin—lines that were stark against what used to be fat-filled warmth. His voice, barely audible, struggled to form words. As I sat at the edge of his bed, his weak hands fumbled to hold mine, attempting to ask the routine questions I’d always known him for. Even when silence took over, I provided the answers, understanding what he couldn’t say.
When it was time to leave, he could no longer escort me outside the house, but his wife did. She pressed a ₦1000 note into my palm—a gesture as familiar as ever, untouched by time.
As I walked away, watching the house fade into the distance, I realized it had been years since we gathered there as we used to. New Year’s Day is now the only time we meet, a fleeting moment once a year.
What happened to our traditions? Did life pull us in different directions with marriages, kids, and new families? Or did we simply grow up? Whatever it was, it seems to have erased the good times we once shared, just as the house we knew has been transformed into something modern—a space that doesn’t feel like home anymore. We’ll never recreate those memories here.
In the end, time takes everything—the memories, the house, the people. But for now, it’s all we have.