DAD STORIES: I have faith I'll dance with my father in heaven

Patrick Njuguna and his daughter Florence Njuguna. PHOTO | COURTESY

What you need to know:

  • From my father, I learnt to converse with the aged.
  • I learnt to have unwavering faith in the future. I learnt to do what needs to be done to get things going.
  • Losing my dad was a difficult period of my life.
  • Follow #DadStoriesKE for more stories like these or visit this Father's Day 2018 link.

"Our Father who at in Heaven"…is one of the most iconic prayers in Christianity. But for me, it also represents a different kind of father.

You see, my dad Patrick Njuguna went back to heaven one year ago, this month. And lately, whenever I think of this prayer, I am reminded that I have two fathers in heaven – God, the Father of all fathers, and my daddy.

And as we prepare to lay his tombstone and commemorate the anniversary of his death, I can’t help but think about the larger than life image of the man he was.

Like most African fathers of old, his word was law and his presence a comforting figure of authority and presence, a total contrast to his wife of 47 years, who has the most gentle and accommodating spirit I know.

Don’t get me wrong, she was no pushover, and was the de facto disciplinarian as my dad rose early and returned late from his business.

But even in his absence, we feared and respected him in equal measure, his legendary temper notwithstanding.

One of the earliest memories I have of dad is of him coming home late at night and calling for one of us, my sister or I, and handing one of us a Blue Band sachet, the really small ones.

He probably could not afford the bigger ones at the time, but it was also his way of checking on us, without having to use words of affection – after all, he was an African dad, not able to openly show his love and affection.

THROUGH HIS EYES

Losing my dad was a difficult period of my life. Nothing in this world, no tragedy, no human experience, no prayer, quite prepares you for the death of a parent. He had been ailing for some time. The vagaries of old age, they said. He was 85 and we saw it coming. But when it finally happened, the blow was enormous.

My dad was born and raised on the outskirts of Nairobi, in a little village called Riruta. Through his eyes we were able to view how Nairobi must have looked like in the 1930s and 1940s – sparsely populated, heavily forested on the outskirts, very fertile and able to feed the population.

Through his eyes we were able to walk through the growth of the city, and though at some point he was bedridden and was unable to see with his own eyes the magnificence of Thika Road, or the development of the bypasses, or take a ride with the SGR, his belief in the growth prospects for Kenya was unwavering.

His belief that education was the key to success was also unwavering.

After all, him, his sisters and brothers all attended the premier schools in Nairobi, long before it was fashionable to do so.

What did I learn from my father’s life? I learnt to converse with the aged. I learnt to have unwavering faith in the future. I learnt to do what needs to be done to get things going.

And what did I learn from his death? That you should never take life too seriously, because even life, at some point, must come to an end. And, in the words of the Desiderata, that you must make peace with your God whatever you conceive him to be. I know my dad had made peace with his Creator and without a doubt resides with him in heaven.

Ironically, as I finish penning this piece, the song "Dance with My Father" by Luther Vandross comes on in the matatu I am riding in. And I sing along, knowing that one day I will have a dance with the Father and my father.

Happy Father’s Day in heaven, daddy.

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Follow #DadStoriesKE for more stories like these or visit this Father's Day 2018 link.