Grace, since 9 a.m., has been by the side of the chancel where the priest and choir are stationed. Her face is so placid that one would think she no longer worries, which is true. Most people would envy that, for to be alive is to constantly be plagued by worry. The priest speaks: “We gather here today to celebrate the life of our sister Grace Achike, who has now returned to her home with our God the Father.”

The mourners are cloaked in layers of sadness. Their hearts are heavy, each person carrying their own story of Grace’s kindness. Among them is a woman whose children’s school fees were graciously covered by Grace after the woman’s husband abandoned the family, and now she stares blankly, her body seemingly dissolving from within. Nearby is the young lady Grace once helped after she was unjustly fired for refusing her boss’s inappropriate advances. There is the man whose son’s knee surgery Grace paid for. Also present is a sister of James, one of Grace’s office mates, who died hours after Grace, driving to work, saw him wounded in a car accident and rushed him to the hospital. During James’ funeral, Grace’s favorite office mate Onyinye was so overwhelmed by grief that Grace had to tell her friend, “Onyinye, my dear, your crying is enough now; we can’t bring back the dead. Clean your eyes.”

As the priest continues with the service, he offers comforting words: “Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there you may be also. And you know the way to where I am going.”

Each moment the mourners stand and cast eyes upon Grace, Onyinye, the cherished office mate who often filled in for her during times of lateness and absences, can’t help but be reminded of Grace’s infectious smile and laughter. Onyinye fondly remembers one sunny afternoon when she lied to their boss to protect Grace. A grateful Grace later enveloped her friend in a tight hug, leaving the scents of her perfume and the threads of her hair on Onyinye. A memory Onyinye holds dear.

The priest reminds the mourners about the sins of the flesh and soul, the things they might have done knowingly and unknowingly. “Grace, in her coffin, is a caution to the mourners to live a just and fulfilled life to the glory of God,” he says.

The sermon is a jeremiad. Some of the mourners are drowsy. A few of them begin to fiddle with their phones while others murmur about a seemingly endless sermon, disturbing those trying to listen.
“God, our shelter and our strength, you listen in love to the cry of your people, hear the prayers we offer for our departed sister. Cleanse her of her sins and grant her the fullness of redemption. We ask this through Christ our Lord.”

The priest ends the sermon and the choristers intone solemn hymns that fill the mourners’ ears and stir their hearts. The mourners stand and join in the singing. Grace’s husband Obinna is on the second pew, not far from where Grace lies. Family members and friends surround him. Obinna hums the hymns, his thoughts drifting. Beside Obinna are the confused and anxious faces of his children.

The solemn hymns end and the priest says the prayers of commendation and concludes with a committal, “I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy Catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting. May almighty God bless you, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen. In Peace, let us take our sister Grace Achike to her place of rest.”

Six sturdy pallbearers, their movements synchronized, stand up and approach the coffin. One of them gently closes the lid, veiling Grace from view. Perhaps Grace has grown weary of being gazed upon, much like how she eventually grew tired of Obinna looking her in the eyes while he lied.

“We had too many customers today and were unable to process their transactions during work hours. So, I and some co-workers were appointed to clear them at the office throughout the night. I’ll be paid extra for it,” Obinna would say after he showed up the day after failing to return home.
“You should have given me a call or sent a text to let me know you wouldn’t be coming home,” Grace would reply, her face turned away to avoid his gaze. “I called, but you weren’t picking up. I was worried.”
“Yes … Yes, I should have returned your call. I’m sorry.”

Grace always restrained herself from responding as she battled the overwhelming emotions swirling within her. She struggled to maintain a facade of calm, subjecting herself to a form of self-inflicted torment. Fasting and prayer became her solace, as if these actions alone could mend the fractured situation. But Obinna continued to spend more nights away from home, offering no convincing explanations for his absence. Grace’s faith and hope eroded over time. She withdrew into her inner self, and many nights she wept, her cries echoing until her heart felt as heavy as a stone.

One day Grace returned home from work and discovered Angela exiting the compound. This was happening for the fourth time in three months. That day, Grace’s perception of Obinna shifted permanently. He was no longer the man whose heart had once harmonized with hers, whose intellect and humor had captured her attention and filled her with laughter, and whose love she had believed to be boundless. Now he appeared as a deceiver, a cheater, and a trickster in her eyes.

Even Angela was taken aback when she unexpectedly faced Grace that day. Nevertheless, she greeted Grace with a smile and approached her for an embrace. Grace couldn’t help but sense Angela’s nervousness. It lingered in the air between them after they pulled apart.
Angela said, “I stopped by to see you, but you weren’t home.”
Grace nodded. “You should have given me a call.”
“I met the kids. Wonderful kids, as always.”
“Yeah. Let’s go inside. At least, I should offer you something.”
“No, dear, don’t worry. I am already running late for a meeting. I stopped by to check on you and then be on my way.”

Grace watched Angela go before entering the house. Obinna, on seeing Grace, rose from the reclining couch and embraced her, casually mentioning that her friend had just left. Grace pondered the description of Angela as a friend. They had crossed paths at a church service two years ago and had since exchanged a few visits to each other’s homes. Their conversation during these visits typically revolved around dresses, the Kardashians, women opting for surgery rather than embracing their natural looks, and the trend of younger women striking poses beside expensive cars. One of the things Angela knew from Grace’s visits was that Grace had a penchant for orange juice. Grace knew Angela as obsessive and eager. The word friend felt somewhat expansive for the nature of their relationship. Grace said to Obinna that she met Angela on her way in. Their children, upon hearing their mother’s voice, rushed out of their room and enveloped her in warm embraces, making her at that moment briefly forget her discomfort. Their faces radiated joy as she gave them the treats she had brought.

Now the priest says, “Let us go in peace to live out the Word of God. Amen.”
The pallbearers hoist Grace’s coffin onto their shoulders and begin their solemn procession to the cemetery. The mourners follow the priest, who follows the pallbearers. Weeping intensifies as the procession nears the grave.

The mourners gather at the graveside, where the pallbearers gently put Grace’s coffin on the ground. The choristers break into another series of sorrowful hymns, setting an even somber tone. Then the priest begins the final rites, “In certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commit to Almighty God the soul of our sister Grace Achike, and we commit her body into the grave. May the Lord bless her and keep her, the Lord make his face shine upon her and be gracious unto her. May the Lord lift his countenance upon her and give her peace. Amen.”
“Amen!”

The pallbearers then lower Grace’s coffin into the grave. The priest throws a handful of soil into it. Tears stream down dozens of cheeks. Grace’s mother and sisters wail in anguish so intense it seems they might leap into the grave. Obinna wipes his tears with the back of his hand.

Angela stands with the mourners, dressed in black and a transparent shawl that drapes her head and shoulders. She keeps a distance of several meters behind Obinna. No one suspects anything, certainly not Onyinye or Obinna’s children, who look even more confused and disturbed. On one of those days when Obinna stayed late at work, his oldest child Ekene, six years old at the time, asked his mother, “Mum, will Daddy be home today?”
“Soon he will,” Grace said. “Daddy promised to take us out,” said Chinaza, the second-born child.
Grace stared into her children’s eyes. “Dear, you know his work is important to us. Some other time he will take you two out, okay?”
Grace knew the children could tell she was lying, but they nodded.
“It is time to go to sleep,” Grace said and took them to their room, put them in their bed, and kissed them goodnight.

Now, if the dead could speak, Grace would rise, walk over to Obinna, smack him hard on the cheek, and assure the mourners that their cries are in vain. But she has been motionless since the afternoon she returned home early to drop off boxes containing documents from work and then go pick up the children from school. Thirsty, she reached for the fridge, only to find there was no more bottled water left. Grace knew she had restocked water the previous day. A carton of orange juice sat on the dining table, catching her eye. It was from her last trip to the grocery. She poured a generous amount into a glass and savored the sweet taste as it danced on her taste buds. Satisfied, she smacked her lips. Picking her handbag from the couch, she made her way toward the door. As she reached for the doorknob, a pang erupted in her stomach. At first the pain was sharp but faint, then speedily it transformed into a storm, rocking her everywhere. She was attempting to catch her balance when her ankle twitched and she stumbled. Her body convulsed in a whirl and she was falling. Her hair spread out like wings and her hands groped for something to catch. Her left leg shot upward while her right contorted. With a resounding crash, the back of her head met the hard tiles. Blood trickled from the fresh opening, drenched her hair, soaked her dress and engulfed the tiles.

The priest directs Obinna, who then throws a handful of soil into Grace’s grave. The priest motions for the pallbearers to cover her up, “… earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life. Amen.”

The pallbearers take the shovels and start hurling red earth over the coffin. They work quickly, as if in a hurry to be done with Grace. Red earth goes into the grave, hitting its target. It goes thud, thud, thud till there is no more space. Grace’s grave is now covered. Down there, all is calm and silent. ▪