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Culture

Losing dad: The most gut-wrenching heartbreak ever

Nana Ama Agyemang Asante
Last updated: 2016/02/08 at 8:00 AM
Nana Ama Agyemang Asante
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Daddy loved pictures. Whip out a camera and there was a smile.
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Fourteen days ago, my father Nana Kwame Asante passed away at age 70. There have been many heartbreaks. There has been none as painful, gut-wrenching and devastating as my present grief. Life as I know it has ended.

Both my parents love(d) me and they show(ed) it. But so much of my existence is about being Nana Asante’s daughter. My thoughts and beliefs about life, kindness, faith and others have roots in the lessons he taught.

I went to live with dad at age six. What I remember from that period was the extent he went to make me feel less alone. We started reading the Uncle Arthur bedtime stories. He’d randomly drop by State Experimental School to check up on me from my class teacher. It was dad who took my sister and me to the hospital. Yes, there was a wife and mother, but she wasn’t mine. There were no teachers or friends Nana Asante didn’t meet. There was no time in my life I ever felt alone or lacking in any good thing. Daddy brought Readers Digest, Danielle Steel and jollof on Sunday visits in boarding school and sent birthday cakes in university.

Since he left, it takes me a few seconds every morning to understand the overarching emptiness that has engulfed my soul since the last phone call. I’m not naive. I know arrival and departures are a natural part of life. So is death. Daddy was ill, and I considered all the possibilities – but nothing prepares one for the shock, and the incomprehensible sorrow death brings. It feels like someone has repeatedly been kicking me in my stomach.

When I was eight, timid and afraid, I was bullied by the older kids in my class. Dad’s driver who used to pick us up from school told him I get picked on. That evening, he sat me and down and said: “you have to tell me everything that happens to you. Besides God, there is no one bigger than your father.”

All my life I’ve walked around with a chip on my shoulder because of what he said to me that day and also because no matter what happened, he always showed up for me. It didn’t matter how stupid, silly, and ridiculous the issue was, daddy would pick my call or call me right back and provide help, directions or advise to help me cope.

I can write a book on daddy’s pithy sayings that left indelible marks on my conscience and shaped my life. In my timid phase, he’d harp on “there is a great difference between timidity and humility” at the end of every lecture. When he made a fuss about cleanliness, he’d tell us “cleanliness is next to Godliness.” He said it so often that my kid brain assumed this was a quote from the bible. When colleagues query the source of my outrageous confidence to make certain demands, I’d say “my dad says I should live like everyone was made to meet my demands.”

Daddy’s care and focus on his extended family, townspeople and the community of strangers who also became family taught us, his children, about compassion. It sparked endless conversations about inclusion and respect for all kinds of people.

Daddy was by no means perfect neither was I the exemplary daughter. We clashed many times over some things. Journalism is one of the things we disagreed over. Still, he looked out for us even when we rebelled and followed our own paths. In 2007, while doing my national service at Joy FM, he called the newsroom and asked Israel Laryea to correct my pronunciation of a particular word. He sent money when my allowance finished. He listened when I called to rant about the state of affairs.

I loved him with all my heart for that and more. He was a loving father who instilled discipline and confidence in his children so we wouldn’t be, as he used to say, “a liability to ourselves and society.” He was a generous man who loved his family and community. Above all, as we grew older, he was a friend who offered a sympathetic ear to even my most mundane woes.

I consider my siblings, and I privileged and blessed to have had daddy. I’m utterly heartbroken that he is gone. I don’t understand. My heart feels empty, and I’m terrified. I keep expecting him to show up and berate me for “wearing my heart on my sleeves.” Or to remind me to greet from right to left. Or to not cross my legs when I’m sitting with adults.

Daddy was an amazing father and an incredibly wonderful human being. He was taken too soon, but I’m thankful for the gifts of life, love, intelligence, laughter and generosity he shared with us. I’ll miss him every day. And I’ll think of him for the rest of my life. I hope I’m able to live out the rest of my days being half the woman he wanted me to be and half the human he was. I pray the keepers of the gate grant him rest.

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TAGGED: Death, Father, Heartbreaks, Parenting

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Nana Ama Agyemang Asante February 8, 2016 February 8, 2016
By Nana Ama Agyemang Asante
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This is Nana Ama Agyemang Asante or @justnanaama on Twitter (yes, it is still Twitter to me.) You might remember me from co-hosting on Citi CBS. I created this blog to reflect on life in Ghana. Then, I got on radio, and this blog became my safe space to say the “unsayable” with my chest—without the risk of endless meetings (just kidding… or maybe not). Anyway, radio is on hold for now—turns out thinking and writing about Ghanaian politics is just as exhausting as living through it. As for my podcast, Unfiltered? Taking a breather, because multitasking is a myth. I’m currently working on the Ghana Women Expert Project. Oh, and I’m also studying religion, which means I am immersed in a world of questions Sunday School teachers refused to answer and sermons that annoyed me. I will however, be popping by to post some of my unfiltered thoughts on everything from life in Ghana to reflections on religion and religious communities
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11 Comments
  • Anonymous says:
    February 8, 2016 at 4:58 pm

    What a beautiful words about your Dad! Know that he will be watching over you and your siblings. Stay Strong and God Bless.

    Reply
  • Nana Ayiwah says:
    February 8, 2016 at 6:44 pm

    These words m sure R FRM no other person than Nana Ama Agyemang Asante, very touching my dear,accept my condolence God knows best

    Reply
  • kenikodjo says:
    February 9, 2016 at 11:51 am

    You have no idea how much I can relate to this! Daddies are the best, aren’t they? May he rest in peace. And oh that feeling of being kicked in the stomach, it gets better. 🙂

    Reply
    • nyamewaa says:
      February 13, 2016 at 6:37 pm

      Thank you. It doesn’t feel like it will stop hurting but it’s helpful to know that one day the kicking will stop.

      Reply
  • Abena Serwaa (@abena_serwaa) says:
    February 10, 2016 at 6:14 pm

    Very sad to read this beautiful piece about your dad…I know that gut-wrenching feeling all to well. I lost my own dad just after undergrad. Even though it was so many years ago, it still hurts but the pain has gotten less with time. I still miss him every day. I miss the stories he used to tell us. I miss his wit, humour and our arguments. My dad was so funny….I used to read his letters out loud to my friends in school because they were filled with biting humour and he used to write them like legal briefs full of “heretos” and “herewiths”. My dad may be gone but he is never forgotten and always has a special place in my heart. My condolences to you and your family.

    Reply
    • nyamewaa says:
      February 13, 2016 at 6:33 pm

      Abena! Thank you for sharing this with me. It’s comforting to know that I’ll survive even if I don’t forget. May your dad also rest in peace.

      Reply
  • Anonymous says:
    February 15, 2016 at 10:12 am

    Nana, I want to extend my deepest sympathy to you on the loss of your dad…. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now, but then, I want to assure you that, there are some of us out here praying with you during these difficult times… I pray the Lord brings you the much-needed comfort and peace during this sad time and may my prayers ease the pain of this loss.

    Reply
    • nyamewaa says:
      February 17, 2016 at 7:36 pm

      Thank you for kind words. May God hear your prayers. And thank you for praying for me.

      Reply
  • Clarissa Bannor says:
    February 18, 2016 at 10:49 pm

    So sorry about the loss of your dad. He will always be in your heart, and he will always watch over you.

    Reply
  • desaha says:
    March 2, 2016 at 10:57 am

    my condolence, i believe he is in a better place

    Reply
  • Kofi Kusi Dapaah (@Kofinhyira) says:
    April 6, 2016 at 4:09 pm

    Wooow.Quite a similar story.Mr.Asante was just like my late Dad.We argued over journalism.He won,I pursued Accounting under his instructions.He was my first Accounting tutor.I look back and think it was good he won even though I have not abandoned journalism.Paragraphs 2,8,9 and the last paragraph I can associate with strongly.He is no more but his legacy lives on.

    Reply

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