LOVE CAN KILL YOU

I woke up to find Emily crying at my bedside in ward 5 @ the Opoku Ware hospital. I was alarmed, had the doctor said something to her or had something happened at home? I quickly sat up and asked her why she was crying. Amidst the tears she told me her twin sister had committed suicide..

 

What? Emelda had committed suicide, why, how come? Reason being that her husband of eleven years was cheating on her and had practically moved out of their apartment leaving her with their two kids- Ryan and Bryan. I was astonished.  

 

Emelda had gotten her heart broken; she was in a state of cynicism and bitterness. Her husband wouldn't eat her food, he beats her when she complains about him coming home late. He wouldn't even touch her anymore. Yet day in day out, her husband goes in to the next door neighbor's home, takes her out and sleeps over. During an argument, he mentioned that he was going to divorce Emelda for the woman next door just because it's her he feels he wants to be with. I am also told that Emelda's husband, Jamal was in Ghana during the Christmas holidays and stayed over at his in-laws house but had come with Rethabile, the lady next door. He had sold all the lands he and his wife had toiled to buy just so he can have an expensive wedding ceremony for the lady next door.

 

 

That reminds me, I was in Johannesburg in August to see my granny and visited Emelda a couple of times but the only conversation we could hold down was mere pleasantries when we exchanged greetings. The rest of the hours we spent, every tick-tock was her complaints about how her husband cheating on her with the lady next door. 

 I saw how practically devastated my friend was and advised that she seeks counseling.

 

If your man has ever cheated on you especially with someone close then you would totally understand how my friend was feeling. She was not only emotionally hurt but had lost her self- confidence too. She didn't find a reason to wake up, dress up and show up anymore. She didn't have a job. Emelda has been living in Johannesburg for ten years and had never worked before.  Her Husband won't allow her to. So she had become a stay- at -home mum taking care of her two children. The only time she ever goes anywhere is when she had to drop or pick her kids from school, or people like us visit and we wanna hang out. I had always envied Emelda's figure. She was tall and slim with bigger butts and wider hips. She had an ‘8 figure’ and each time we were walking by the roadside during our university days in Ghana, it's either we get to have a free ride to our destinations or we had men staring at us in both directions.

 

So before I returned back to GH, my granny had gotten her a contact to a counselor to help her pull out of her current situation. I have tried calling to check on her and also to find out how the counseling session had been going but she won't pick my calls. She had even blocked me on WhatsApp. I have had my granny go to her house to check on her several times. I was even told she never made it to the counselor’s. 

 

Apparently Emelda had gotten tired of the situation and felt suicide was the only option forgetting that she had her children to live for. So she swallowed a couple of pills whilst videoing herself and sent it to her twin sister whom she had blocked for a couple of months now. My granny was called but by the time she got to the apartment, Emelda had passed on. What ‘goodies’ did Rethabile have that Emelda lacked? Why would her husband treat her this way? 

 

On Tuesday night, I was called to come over to the funeral home on the Haatso road. Aaah!!!! Funeral home? What for? The person didn't say. So I made a friend drive me over to the place where I met my friend Mansa's  mum. The woman had lost her voice from too much crying and all she could ever say to me was "look what your friend had done to herself"? ....so I asked, is Mansa the reason we are here at the funeral home?. She answered yes. I couldn't believe it so I asked that they take me to see my friend. Two gentlemen along with Mansa's mum led me to the morgue, and there laid my friend with a band on her wrist that read...."Mansa Addo". They were just about putting her into the fridge when we entered. I froze! Reality hit me suddenly and I burst into tears.

 

Mansa and I had been childhood best friends during those days in Adafoah. We played in the sand together, attended the same primary school and lived across the street from each other until my mum was transferred to Accra and we had to move to the city. A year later, Mansa's family also moved to Accra and the friendship continued. Two years ago today I was at her wedding and I must admit it was a lovely one. From the decor to her gown and the reception, all was on point. She was happy with Gerald . They both were until things started getting bad. 

 

Mansa would call me at night crying over the phone that her husband hadn't been home for a week. Her food was always left uneaten. Whatever she says pisses Gerald off. They no longer had any conversation without arguing...

 

They would not reason together as husband and wife but anytime her parents or his parents were visiting they both pretended all was well. No matter how many times they quarreled they would go to church and pretend all was well. Really? 

 

She kept receiving anonymous text messages and calls from different ladies telling her about their affairs with her husband or asking her to stay away from Gerald. Some even sent pictures of the way he lays them in bed.

 

It was devastating. Mansa soaked it in. I knew she had bottled a lot within her the day I visited her at Korle-Bu. She had told me she was tired and couldn't take it anymore. And even though her blood pressure just kept rising the doctors couldn't say exactly what was wrong with her. So she was often in and out of the hospital.

 

The situation had been a big toll on her. Her colleagues at the bank had noticed but she wouldn't speak to anybody. Mansa kept growing lean. Even Gerald noticed and all he could say was Mansa should eat well. He gave her a week of love and affection, claimed he had changed and went back to his usual life style in three days.

 

On Monday, she came home to meet Gerald in their matrimonial bed with another lady. That broke her but she took it easy. I called to check up on her on Tuesday morning but she was driving and asked that we speak later in the day. I didn't know she had passed on until her mother called me.

 

My friend just broke her mother’s heart and that of mine.  She died because she couldn't take it anymore. She died for love.

 

Hmm!! I'm saddened.  Love is never supposed to hurt. Love is supposed to heal, love is supposed to be your haven from misery. Love is supposed to make life worth living but it can also kill you.  Each time you decide to love someone, marry someone or get into a relationship with someone or whatsoever, remember it is a risk. It may or may not work out. 

  

I dedicate this piece to each and everyone who has been hurt one way or the other by love. I have had my share of it, we all have but the sun would definitely shine again.

 

Whatever causes you pain, whatever sucks your energy is not worth fighting for.

 

When we lose hope may God help us to remember that his love is greater than all our disappointments and his plans for our lives are bigger than our dreams.