O death, where is thy sting?

It was the perfect description of my situation, only the tree I came across was still there, proud and erect.

We had said many words here, talked about how we weren't going to survive without each other, how we were good for each other, how we would come back year after year - together - to recreate that particular memory.

He had told me about his plans to leave the country and search for pastures that were as green as the spot where we sat. Something pricked my heart in that instant, like a sad feeling.

My mother used to say she always had the same warning signal before something bad happened, but I didn't pay attention. I was busy soaked up in the moment, and the feeling was as fleeting as a thunderstorm.

I couldn't bring myself to sit at the foot of the tree so I walked around it instead, running my fingers lightly on its sturdy bark, pausing at some point to wrap my arms around its trunk so that my heart could lean against it and get some comfort.

It wasn't even like this when the local preacher had come to make the sign of the cross over the wooden box that housed my father's body. Yes, I had seen my mother wail, and throw herself on the box over and over, calling for Ebuka to come and take her with him. But even then, the tears that leaked from my eyes didn't get to my heart.

This time, it seemed like my heart itself was crying.

I had been typing away at the old-fashioned Dell desktop that had been installed in my office forever when my phone beeped. Mr. Sam would tell his lungs out if he saw me take a call in the office, but I took it anyway, more to spite him than to talk to whoever was over the phone.

It was an unknown number, so I placed the phone on my ear, supported it with my left shoulder, and continued clicking at the keys. It was the last thing I remembered doing before running all the way to the hospital.

My colleagues said I suddenly let out a loud scream, my phone dropping from my ear to the ground. They had gathered around me trying to make sense of the situation, but I told them I needed to get to the city hospital immediately, and when they left to get a car ready, I leaped on my feet and began to run.

I don't know where Keane had gotten the inspiration to write that song, that verse most especially, but as it played in my head, the tune returning slowly, it seemed to comfort me because I could finally lower myself onto the base of the maple tree. And I was singing the song out loud.

I leaned my head and closed my eyes shut, allowing the rhythm I could now remember to envelop me as the rain began. I took that too as a sign, not that everything would be okay, but as a sign from my beloved that he had kept to our promise, and he was here. With me.