Experience the Best of Echeta!

How do you deal with a grief that leaves you wishing you were dead? Life to me is meaningless, when you have no joy, peace but rather you left with nightmares and sadness. My name is Adaora and this is my story.

I grew up in the most loving, wealthy and reserved family setting—a home where laughter was abundant and joy was constant.

My parents taught us to love and care for each other—my father is the only child in his poor family, he grew up lonely and sad so he vowed that when he raised his own family that he’ll give them all the love and care.

My parents were respectable figures in the society, they were among the rich folks, admired for their success, wealth and the value they added to the society. Being the children of a neurosurgeon and a real estate developer, I and my three brothers were raised traditionally, disciplined and we had a strong family bond. As the only girl I adored, my childhood memories were sweet— family dinners, bike rides with my brothers, I had everything I wanted. I felt so lucky growing up in this family. Until life thought I didn’t deserve all that I have.

My two brothers Kelechi, and Ugonna were coming back from school, and they had an accident—Their car exploded and went up in flames. The fire consumed them and that was left were ashes of my brothers. Everyone in the family was devastated—My parents were in shock, it was as if life had been sapped from them, I was traumatized, disoriented in school, I wanted to come home. But fear wouldn’t let my parents allow come home. So I stayed in school. My only surviving brother Nnanna, the eldest child of my parents started using drugs. Grief consumed him and my parents couldn’t help him. So I was asked to return home being the closest to him. The day I was supposed to come home, my brother and my father got into a serious fight, my mother realizing how bad it had gotten, called the estate security for help. But before they could arrive, my brother—lost in a moment of blind rage— stabbed my father. My brother went into his room, locked the door, and shot himself.

When I walked in, my father was lying in a pool of his own blood—my mother had collapsed, and emergency services were already in the house, rushing to take them to the hospital. I stood there, frozen, my mind struggling to make sense of the chaos.

Where is my brother? What happened here?

Then a stranger—someone I didn’t know—explained everything. They mentioned a gunshot. My stomach dropped.

I ran to my brother’s room, my heart pounding. The door was shut. I pushed it open.

There he was, lying on the floor in his own blood, his eyes wide open, lifeless. A gun rested beside his head.

Something inside me broke. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t scream. I felt hollow. I sank down beside him, pressing my body against the cold floor. I could hear noises—people running, voices shouting—but I was no longer there. I had drifted into the silence. The storm had taken everything.