Too Late To Say Sorry.

Well, even I myself know the words were somehow—I mean the words I spoke to my uncle, they weren't nice at all. And I never knew those would be my last words to him. Those words were very heavy ones that I kept carrying about, and each time I think of him, I could literally hear myself shouting at him in anger. Sincerely, I really wish I could take that back, but I can't. I can't rewind time; it's too late.

My uncle's name was Tunde, so we all call him Uncle Tunde, and sincerely, he was more than just an uncle to us. When things kind of changed for us, he was there supporting us in every little and big way. I can't deny the good things he has done for me personally, paying my school fees, house rent, and such, not to mention what he does for my family. Sometimes later he got his workshop erected in our street, and he decided to stay in our house pending when he would see a good apartment to rent. During those times I remember him shouting each morning I failed to wake up early: ..."O boy, come out, never let the sun rise before you if you want to succeed."* I resented some of the things he did then, but I know he loves me.

Now, a quarrel occurred that broke us apart; it's a little over two years now since that incident happened. It was around them I graduated from school and got a job in the city. They weren't paying much, but then, I feel I should just start with that. It is better than nothing and much better than just sitting at home doing nothing. So it happened that after about 3 months, my uncle wanted me to start sending money home, even though he knows I haven't gotten a place of my own yet. I was still staying with a friend, and it wasn't comfortable because he was married, and his space isn't big. But then, Uncle won't understand; he kept calculating how much I should send to fix his workshop and to also settle half of his child's school fee.

I visited home around the Christmas period. The next day, he invited me over to his place. I got there and met my mom and him talking. I stepped out to give them some space; it was later I was also invited into the mall parlor. It was just him and me; my mom had gone back to her shop where she sells petty things.

"Kayode Davis," he began, intentionally adding the surname so I would remember we were carrying the same surname.... "I very well understand that your salary is not much, but you need to know that you left home to feed home; you should at least send half of your monthly earnings." My uncle said.

"I very well understand you, sir, and I haven't for a minute forgotten about home, but I just started. There are bills on my neck too as well. Allow me to stand a little bit first and..."

He wouldn't even let me land before he shouted at me as he slammed the table in front of him. "When I was your age, I knew what I'd done and the different things I had on the ground; if not for that, how do you think I would be able to do all I could when you were in school? Did I hide my money then, or did I complain? Don't even tell me that."

"Uncle, that was then. Things aren't as easy as they were back then, sir. I just..."

"You just what, huh? When I was doing mine, couldn't I have hidden, spent, or saved my money? Don't make me angry, or..."

"Uncle, that is you o," I was forced to snap. "That's your choice, and you can't even expect me to be like you. I want to build my own life differently, please."

"Wow," he said as his eyes narrowed. "So you are now so big that you can't even recall who raised you."

That was deep, I know it. I had gone too far, but then anger and pride had risen within me and had leveled gratitude. "I refused to be guilt-tripped; maybe it's just better I stay away." I fired back.

That day, I stormed out of his house angry; I didn't even bid him bye-bye. It was when I got home I remembered I didn't even greet his wife goodbye or thank her for the food I left untouched.

I traveled back, and since then, my mom kept disturbing me about him, but I won't even answer her, "Mom, I'm sending you the little I can. Can you just free me? Isn't he supposed to understand?"

So, it turned from weeks to months, and I got myself busy with work. Anytime my mom mentions him, I just wave it off.

"Try and visit your uncle; he's always asking of you." My mom would say.

"Later, Mum, I'm busy presently." I would always respond.

One particular evening, my cousin's call came in; his voice was shaky as he said, "Brother, Uncle is sick; please come home, he's been calling your name for a while now."

But the pride in me has refused to succumb to even this teary information. If he really needs me, he should reach out to me himself, I thought within myself. "I'll come by next week; I can't just leave work without prior notice." I replied to him.

Guess what? Next week never came.

Two days later, it was a very sunny afternoon. I was just leaving work for home when my phone rang. It was my mom. I didn't want to pick, but then I did. And what was the information this time... Your uncle is gone."* She said in a sad but final tone, and she hung up immediately.

I dragged my feet home that day and sat on the edge of my bed; even the phone was still pressed to my ear from the point where I picked it up till I made my way home. Word for word, our quarrel began to replay in my head. I could hear my sharp and rude words flowing and his loud ones. I could vividly recall us both arguing, neither wanting to bend for the other. Likewise, I never knew that was the last boat, and I had missed it.

Initially, I didn't want to go to his funeral because I felt I wasn't worthy enough too, but then, that's just the best time to pay my last respects to him, so I went. His compound was filled with various people...mechanics from his workshop, neighbors, and all. Everyone was saying good things about him—how generous, kind, caring, and responsible he was. I knew all this, so that made it hurt me more.

I went to his home later; the first thing I saw was his chair, that armchair that stood alone by the window side. That was his chair. I moved near, and I could still feel his smell hanging in the room. I touched the chair, and there were present the black oil stains that were always on his hand and the mark of his nails, as he loves digging into the wooden armchair anytime he's having a serious discussion with anyone. Then I felt the warm hand of my mom on my back. I turned to look at her, and she said, "He's always asking about you; he wanted to see you before...." And her voice trailed off.

I couldn't even say a thing; maybe it still felt like a dream to me, but I know it wasn't. This is real; Uncle is gone. I looked out and saw the shed he used as his workshop. I walked close to it, and I could still perceive the smell of oil, petrol, and the like. The place was neat as always. I imagined him shouting, "Clean that space; I must not come back and meet this space dirty." He would always say to his apprentice.

Up until night, people were at his house mourning and singing. I can't help but remember how he used to advise me, send money to me at intervals, wake me up, correct and caution me, and the like. He's the only one who allowed me to play football every evening, as my mom won't even allow for that.

Regret dragged me for months. I kept thinking about how it had all gone wrong; even if I was angry and all, I could have just said, "Uncle, thanks a lot, I really appreciate you; don't worry, I will try my best and get back to you." That simple word wouldn't have led to us drifting. Or what if I had taken time off to visit him all these times Mum was disturbing me?

But then, all those blames and questions won't raise the dead. And that experience has changed me. Since then, I now call people I love, if need be, to apologize; I do so without hesitation. I no longer wait for a perfect time, as there's none. I help and give in whatever way I can. Likewise, I can't always assume people will always be around when I'm ready.

Life doesn't hold on to boats at the harbor. You see some just sail without you, even though they might not know it's time to, and all you can do is to watch the waves at that spot they once were.

Up until now, I still imagine what Uncle would say if he saw me doing some things or acting somehow; probably he would just smile and say something like, "You stubborn boy, I told you, but then you decided to learn the hard way." And I, on the other hand, would just laugh, because that would have been the truth.

Well, I missed the boat with him, but then, his absence became my best teacher. Trust me when I say the only way I can honor his memory is by never missing the others again.

All pictures are mine.

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