Note: This is not a promotional post.

A few years ago, I never knew that in my lifetime I would publish a post about cigarettes.

As far as I was concerned, cigarettes were for society’s outlaws, wayward people, “ashawos and agberos”, gangsters and gangstresses ( I just coined that word Lol).

I never knew that sooner or later I also would take a stick of cigarette, raise it to my lips, light up the other end, and smoke. Grief did that to me.

THE TRIGGER

I lost my father two years ago. It was sudden and surreal. I actually thought it was just a really terrible nightmare I would soon awake from.

But the more I pinched myself, the more reality dawned on me.

The way he passed was also nothing compared to whatever I could have imagined for his passing. It was horrific.

And the way he was treated at the hospital he died in? That moment is forever engraved in my mind. And that moment, alongside moments following that, changed me.

In quick momentary successions, I began to see the other side of the world and of the people around me.

I realized how selfish everyone was. I realized how selfish I had been. I realized how everything is just… vanity.

We spent the first few hours deciding where to take his body. Our uncles won.

We drove him to a mortuary in my state that night, all the way from Lagos. Then I went to my family house.

We couldn’t sleep. If I had felt an emptiness before due to any other reason, it was nothing compared to what I felt the night my father died.

I felt deserted. I felt like I had disappointed him. I honestly wished I had died in his place.

The hardest part was having to tell my youngest siblings what had happened to their dear Papa.

It all felt wrong. I didn’t understand why I deserved to breathe while my father was in a body bag in a taxi across the country.

It was at this moment that I questioned God and my faith. I questioned everything I had been thought and everything I knew about God.

I questioned His love for me.

I questioned His existence.

I spent the next few days with my family and the multitude of people that flocked to our home was insane.

They all said the same thing. I cried every time.

They frowned at that and encouraged me to suck it all in and be a big sister to my siblings and also be strong for my mother.

I understood them to an extent. But my grief was huge. It was hard to repress.

After a few days, I realized that I might not be able to grieve my father properly until all of that process was over.

The longer I stayed home, the harder it was for me to process. All I did was hide myself in his room and sob. I felt like a failure.

I just wanted to see him again. I felt emotions that seemed too much for my body and mind to contain.

But like they said, I had to be strong for everyone. I sucked it all up.

THE SCENARIO

A month later, I was on the set of Shanty Town season 1 as Production Coordinator. This was exciting and I tried my best to keep my mood up.

I worked my ass off to numb my pain. I smiled, I laughed. I did everything except grieve.

I also secured an acting role as one of the Shanty girls and it was dark enough to reflect how I felt on the inside. So I could cope.

I was also required to smoke cigarettes for my role. This was my first time and if I was in a different mood, maybe I could have found a way to refuse using it as a prop.

But a part of me was incredibly repressed. And so for the first time in a while, I did a rebellious act.

For the first time in my young baby girl life, I took a cigarette stick from the props assistant and did as she instructed.

I felt a release of dopamine and I instantly felt better and sharper than usual.

For a moment, that tightness in my chest seemed to evaporate into thin air.

I had a feeling of euphoria that lasted for the whole day.

It was a break from the hopeless feeling that grief had subjected me to in the past month.

It was a brief return to sanity, so I thought.

RELATED STORY

In the movie titled “Widows” featuring Viola Davis, the protagonist role she played “Veronica Rawlings” had used alcohol and cigarettes as she recalled the incident leading to the death of her son, while dealing freshly with the loss of her husband.

Her son had been shot by police officers during stop and search; when he reached for something in the car’s compartment they assumed he was armed.

Her husband also had the same demise, at least until she discovered something about the conditions surrounding his “murder” that shaped her journey moving forward.

Smoking cigarettes was her way of coping and numbing her pain as she processed the details of the incident over and over in her mind in a bid to gain some control and make peace with reality.

As I saw this movie a few days ago, I realized how intertwined my grieving process was to that of Veronica.

As a research-geek that I am, I read up vastly and quickly on the long-term effects of smoking cigarettes.

What I found scared me, despite only trying it a few times; Cognitive decline, dementia, stroke, cancer, decrease in brain volume, heightened anxiety, worsened symptoms of PTSD, complications of diabetes, immune system problems, higher risk of respiratory infections, heart attack, heart and kidney disease, retinopathy, nerve damage, etc.

I realized that cigarettes was not the medicine for grief that it had presented so grandiosely to be.

HEALING

Moving forward, I started going to therapy and also buried myself in a lot of work.

I also started to meditate and I found it really helpful. I took walks. I read the Bible. I signed up in the gym. I made new friends.

I also got closer to God. This pulled me out of the hole that grief had dug me into.

I spoke to God about my frustrations and even questioned Him about what had happened to me and my family.

On one occasion, I had an encounter with Him that is, frankly, difficult to explain.

He was magnificent and glorious.

He was everywhere.

He opened my eyes to a lot of truth that my grief had prevented me from seeing.

I began to appreciate my journey, and trust Him more.

Gradually, I started going to church again.

I started a devotional.

I also started speaking in tongues.

It took me years and…

Eventually, I made peace with the fact that my father is in a good place now and I had to continue my life journey to fulfill my own destiny.

Grief is a life-long friend.

Some days it is easier.

Some days it is a disaster.

Ignoring the process or suppressing the feeling with alcohol, smoking, or any other thing only makes the process more dangerous.

Recognizing and affirming grief for what it is, the role it has to play in our lives, and the lessons it has to teach us, is worthwhile.

Honoring my journey has brought me more peace than anything else.

Not everything is meant to be understood, and we would have to make peace with that, sooner or later.

Despite how rich or powerful we as human beings could get, none of us can cheat death. When it is our time, we too will be buried six feet under.

The world will grieve in a moment, and move on in the next. I have learned this every day of my life for the past two years and it is the most grounding thing I could have ever done for myself.

I am glad to say that I have found healthy ways to grieve my late father and most of these processes evolved around loving myself more and prioritizing my self care and happiness, no matter what it looks like.

I hope to make the best use of my time while I still have it, enjoying myself and doing only what makes me happy.

Love and Light. 💡