The first call came in at 8:45 am. You were rushing to a meeting that should’ve started 20 minutes ago, having slept through your first alarm, but the second alarm saved you. That alone wouldn’t have made you so late, but two vehicles had broken down on your route to work, delaying you an extra fifteen minutes in traffic. So, even though you saw who was calling, you couldn’t pick it up.
“I’ll call back after the meeting,” you promised silently as you put your phone on vibration mode and rushed into the meeting room.
The second call came in at 2:12pm, the vibration in your bag alerting you to it. You were at a lunch meeting with some colleagues when your phone rang. You hesitated as you quickly swallowed the forkful of assorted meat-fried rice that you had just chewed, taking the phone out of your bag to see who was calling. You cursed silently when you remembered that you had never called back after your meeting as you had intended. You moved to answer the call when one of your colleagues asked a question. It was a continuation of a conversation about one of your major accounts, and you had forgotten to share an update on the information he had just asked for.
You glanced at your phone screen. Lunch wasn’t the best place to take this call. It would be rushed, and you didn’t want that. You wanted more time to chat at length. Again, you made a silent promise to return the call and then returned to the work chat.
The third call came at 4:30pm. You were finishing up a document that needed to be sent by 5:00 pm. You were almost done, but it needed to be edited and finetuned. You glanced at your phone, cursing again when you saw who was calling. You had forgotten to return the call when you returned to the office. Technically, it wasn’t your fault because you came from lunch to meet clients waiting for you. One thing led to another, and now, a third call was coming in. You didn’t want to lose momentum, and besides, you were almost done. You could call back immediately after work, before you left for home.
You returned to your screen but paused with your fingers hovering over your keyboard. Usually, he would wait for you to call back when you were free. But he’d called three times now. Perhaps it was something important and not his usual check-ins. You had put the call off long enough. Maybe you should just pick up and tell him that you would call back when you finished with work.
So you answered the call.
“Hello, Uncle Sonko,” you greeted after the call connected.
“Hello, my beautiful graduate!” He returned, making you smile. He always called you that, in a tone that exuded pride and love. You had meant to keep this short, but hearing his voice made you change your mind. Uncle Sonko was your favourite person on earth, even if sometimes you didn’t act like it.
“I’m sorry I missed your calls earlier,” you apologised, feeling genuinely remorseful.
“Don’t worry, my dear; I know that you’re busy like all the other important people. I just wanted to have a little chat with you, because I don’t know when you will see me again.”
You felt a stab of guilt. Even though you had automated sending him money every month, it had been a while since you last saw him. And you knew he valued your company much more than any material thing you could give him.
“I am sorry I haven’t been around lately. I will come home at the end of the month to see you,” you promised, mentally shifting activities in your calendar to make time for it.
He was quiet for a moment, and you thought it was because he didn’t believe you. You didn’t blame him for that. After all, you had missed the last two promised visits.
“Don’t worry about that, my dear,” he finally said. “I know you are busy. How is life, truly? Are you happy?”
You thought about it before answering. He often asked you if you were happy, and you were always honest with him.
That was one of the rules he had instituted when he had decided to go against your parents’ and the rest of the family’s wishes to support your education. “If you want to go to school, I am going to help you do that, and I will do everything to help you succeed and become a big woman in the future. But you have to be honest with me. Every time I ask how you’re doing, I want an honest answer. If I don’t know the truth, I can’t help you.”
You had eagerly agreed, shocked by his support. When you had told your family the day before that you wanted to go to school, they had laughed. “Why would you want to do something so hard?” your brother Yaw had asked, genuinely perplexed. Schooling had started as a new concept six years before in your town, and initially only the boys were allowed to go. Most of them didn’t want to go, so the chief ordered each family to volunteer at least one son to be schooled, lest the neighbouring towns beat yours in the number of scholars. The announcement that girls must be allowed to go to school as well came only that year, and most parents weren’t interested in schooling their daughters. Everyone thought it was ridiculous for girls to want education, but you had always secretly coveted your brother’s ability to go to school even though he hated it. So when you showed your interest, everybody laughed. But not Uncle Sonko. He had single-handedly supported and sponsored your education from start to finish without letting anyone know the cost. He was your hero and the only person from your family who attended your matriculation and graduation in higher education. He was the only one you shared your successes and ambitions with, and he supported all your dreams and ambitions and celebrated milestones with you.
And when you started working and earning money, you made sure he enjoyed the benefits of his support. He never asked for anything, only wanted you to be fulfilled and thriving. But you made his life comfortable too. He deserved that and more.
“Yes, Uncle Sonko. I am happy,” you answered. “Stressed sometimes, but happy nonetheless. I am also up for a promotion soon.”
“That’s great news,” he exclaimed, the voice that was initially a little low becoming louder and excited.
“All I ever want is for you to be happy and thriving. I am so proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished. You have always been a fighter, my girl. You succeeded out of determination and hard work and shamed the naysayers. You have so much more to achieve, and no matter how far away I am, I will always be cheering you on and believing in you. And I will rejoice each time you hit another milestone. Continue to dream big, and don’t let anyone make you believe you can’t or aren’t deserving.”
You felt a rush of emotions. He was always like this, telling you how proud he is and encouraging you. Talking to him was an energy and morale booster.
“Thank you, Uncle Sonko. I love you so much,” you told him, ever grateful for his presence in your life.
“I love you too, my dear. Always.”
He was the best person in your life, so you wish the last call had gone this way.
But unfortunately, it had not.
The third call came at 4:30pm. You were finishing up a document that needed to be sent by 5:00 pm. You were almost done, but it needed to be edited and finetuned. You glanced at your phone, cursing again when you saw who was calling. You had forgotten to return the call when you returned to the office. Technically, it wasn’t your fault because you came from lunch to meet clients waiting for you. One thing led to another and now, a third call was coming in. You didn’t want to lose momentum, and besides, you were almost done. You could call back immediately after, before you left for home.
With that decision, you put your phone away and returned to work. Thirty minutes later, you were done. You called his number and stretched, ready to talk to your favourite person in the world.
The call connected on the sixth ring.
“Hello, Uncle Sonko,” you greeted. There was a pause, and then a gentle voice answered, “I’m sorry, Miss. This is not your uncle.”
You straightened in your seat, frowning. The voice was not familiar. “Who is this? And where is my uncle?”
“My name is Dr. Anthony Atonga. I am your uncle’s doctor.”
“Doctor? Is he sick? Why didn’t he tell me? Which hospital is it?”
There is another pause, and then in the same gentle voice, “Ms Amanda, I’m sorry to inform you that your uncle passed away at Grace Antwi Memorial Hospital at 4:50pm today. He wanted me to break it to you first before I inform the rest of his family.”
You feel numb from shock. Dead? Gone? That was impossible. Your uncle couldn’t be dead. You didn’t even know that anything was wrong with him.
“How? He’s okay. He was as strong as an ox, even stronger than me. He can’t be dead.”
You felt your ears ringing as the increasingly faint voice of the doctor explained how your uncle had been sick for a while and checked himself into the hospital for his last days. He had wanted to speak to her for the last time, but she had missed the call. “He left you a voice message on his phone,” the doctor said. But you were too distraught to be mollified. In hindsight, everything else could have waited. None of those other activities were worth the final call with your hero.
You had missed it. You missed the last call. But even as you wept over the loss of both his life and the last chat with him, you take comfort in the knowledge that, while he was still here, you showed him how much you loved and appreciated him. He knew the pride you felt in being his “beautiful graduate”.
