Dear Bingo

My darling Bingo,

Writing to you feels like digging at a wound that hasn’t fully healed… You always found my attempt at metaphors amusing. You said it made me sound like an intelligent poet. You always made me feel like a special deity not born for the ordinariness of this world. You have always been my greatest cheerleader. You loved me with ease, tenderness, and made my life colourful.

My Bingo, I am a museum of all the things we have been together. I still listen to the playlists you made for me. Playlists with lyrics that are an unapologetic confession declaring how much you love me. Sometimes, I rewatch the cheesy romcoms with predictable plots that made us laugh, and bask in the sweetness of love. I see memes and things on the internet that I think would be relatable with you, but I cannot share them because you are unreachable.  I remember the day when I decided that “Bingo” would be my special nickname for you. You liked to say, “bingo” as an expression to emphasize your yes, when you got something done, playful teasing, and when emphasizing an opinion. I have never met anyone who loves to use the word “bingo” as much as you did. I teased you about it and started to call you, “Mr. Bingo.” You loved your new nickname and it quickly became something precious. I still remember that quote you shared about love and nicknames. “We give those we love nicknames, because love requires a word that belongs to us alone…” You said it was from a book that you cherished, and even gave me a copy so that I could understand the depth of these words. I am embarrassed by the fact that I have never read the book even though I adore the tenderness of its beautiful quote. I promise to read the book soon and understand why it meant a lot to you. I still take your recommendations and hobbies seriously because they make me understand why you like particular things. I often revisit some of the places we went together just to soak into the priceless nostalgia of what we once had.

Like I said, writing to you is like digging at the soreness of a wound that has not fully recovered. I am a tomb of grief, pain, and regret. I blame myself for not fighting hard to keep us together. I thought we still had time. I thought we would have that beautiful future we imagined together; our shared home, a wedding ceremony in Zanzibar, our beautiful children born from the union of our love, you and I exploring the world together, supporting each other through both amazing and difficult times. I imagined us growing together, and still in love even in old age.

Two years ago, I got dreadful news. Your elder brother had been the one to carry the burden of telling me that I would not be seeing you again. I usually replay that fateful day in my head. I hate the 19th September because that is when you were taken from me. I was paralyzed with an elusive numbness as your brother struggled to explain how a speeding car had squashed your body. You were on a boda-boda coming to see me and apologize for another silly fight we had. Ironically, the fight was about something trivial that did not deserve such an endless sea of painful consequences. Three days had gone by after we argued. I refused to pick your calls, and answer your messages. You were begging for reconciliation. I hate that it was my anger over a silly thing that made me push you away. I should have never chosen to be a slave to my temper. I hate that I always chose to punish you with the harshness of silent treatment after every fight… I saw the flowers and chocolate you were bringing to make peace with my stubbornness. They made a bloody cocktail with your body dismantled beyond recognition from the accident. I was traumatized with shock when I saw the devastating news all over the internet. I am tortured by the fact that the last time we spoke, we had a bitter exchange of inerasable, cruel words. I never got a chance to attend your funeral because I was ill from all the things that come with the heaviness of grief…I am seeing a Counselor because everyone thinks that I have gone mad from this loss. Everyone says that I should learn how to embrace life again because you would have wanted me to continue living. I am still struggling to learn how to adjust to a world stained with your absence. Some days are progressive and I move with the assurance that you are in Heaven still cheering me on.  Other days, misery convinces me that there is no point in living if I do not have you. On such days, I consider taking my life so that I can get the chance to see you again.

Your family still visits me. I do not like to see their faces, especially your mother because I feel guilty about what happened to you. The Counselor that I am seeing is an expert with grief and assured me that writing about my feelings would ease the ache. Even though I was a bit sceptical at first, I realize how much writing this has made me feel a little better. This letter will remain neatly tucked in the collection of the mementos I have of you…I hope that someday, I will have the chance to see you again and truly apologize for what happened. I know that the Angels in your resting place love you, because who would not be drawn to the goodness of your beautiful heart?

I miss you so much. I will always love you, my special Bingo,

With love,

The girl who truly loved you.

Written by

Uwera Martha

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