I had a scary week

Feb 16, 2014 Features / Columnists, My Column

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Every child is scared of the dark, of death and of the unknown. As we grow older we hear that there is really nothing to be afraid of, but fear itself. Yet many of us, perhaps because of the indoctrination and the belief that adults know about such things, continue to fear those things as the dark and of course, the tomb.
This past week I suddenly woke up to death. It was all around me and there was nothing that I could do except convince myself that I still have some time before it touches me.
A week ago I got the round of e-mail from my schoolmates informing me of the death of one of ours—Courtney Griffith, known to us as Blackett. I had not seen him in decades but his memory was always there. The word is that he lived in Florida and had travelled to Canada to be with some friends. While there he suffered a heart attack and died.
Immediately I tallied up the number of my friends and schoolmates who died of a heart attack. Perhaps it is the food or it could be the sedentary life we adopt when we reach a certain age. Whatever the case, we seem to succumb to this curse.
And then there was Albertha King, a woman I happened to have met nearly five deacdes ago when I travelled to Bartica to seek my fortunes and to fashion my future. She too succumbed to a heart attack two Fridays ago. She was an interesting woman who was famous as a pacifier
Back then in Bartica I was there when she met the man who was to become her husband—Charles King. He had just graduated from the Multilateral Training College and was posted to Bartica. I was there for her wedding. When I left Bartica her husband replaced me as the Information Officer.  He was later posted to Venezuela where he died in a freak accident.
I got the message that Bertha was coming home with the body and I met her at the then Timehri International Airport. She brought with her a baby daughter whom she promptly pushed into my hands so that I could get a baptism of urine.
Our lives continued to be close. We worked together at VCT 28 and later, Prime News. We shared many moments talking about things that were. I watched her, as a single parent, put her daughters through University. One of them is now a Doctor, and no ordinary one at that. She majored in science. Her two other children have done equally well.
When people lament that they are single parents, I would point them to Albertha King. She died a week after Trevor Rose, the father of her daughter’s child, was killed. That was the last time we spoke.
She was not yet buried when word came that another close friend was dying. Laurence Clarke died in a Maputo hospital of cancer of the pancreas. This was a young man who came from the same background as me. He was poor like me, but he used his brain to good effect.
He was the youngest Deputy General Manager of the Guyana National Cooperative Bank. He later left to work with the World Bank, almost reaching the pinnacle. We remained close to the point that whenever he came to Guyana, I would get a call and we would meet.
His prominence on the international scene did not prevent Joy Reid from trying to rob him. She sold him a house then sold the house to someone else. The ensuing court case caused him to travel to Guyana a lot.
He researched and compiled a history of his alma mater, Queen’s College. Facts that were unknown he managed to unearth, like Dr Cheddi Jagan scoring a century playing for the third eleven. People close to me were falling like nine pins.
I had already heard of a villager Sydney Waldron dying in New York and whose body was returning. I grew up with him, but he was closer to my younger siblings’ age.
Coming so close on the heels of each other, bad news like the kinds I have been getting makes me recognize my own mortality. For example, on Thursday I walked out of the gym and suddenly had a dizzy spell. I was worried because I had pushed myself too hard.
I have lost weight and my friends who are accustomed to seeing Adam with a paunch now tell me that I look bad. They do not realize that I have been able to lower my blood pressure by some thirty points. But for my friends, looking rotund is the way to go.
Anyhow, the dizzy spell continued through Friday and into Saturday. Now I am worrying, because I was not known to be a diabetic. But with my friends hurrying to the Great Beyond, I am going to hurry to a doctor for a complete examination. I hope that he does not find anything really bad with me.
But before I head to the doctor, I must tell one more story. My neighbour, Peter Lashley, shared the same birthday with me. On November 1, either of us would shout over to the other, “Happy Birthday.” I took his wife to church when they got married. We did so many things and we spoke a lot.
On Valentine’s Day he left home for work. What got into his head to cross the road ahead of approaching vehicles is a mystery. A truck crushed him and I became even more ill. To lose five friends and a close associate in a week is not a joke.
But then again, I console myself that I am going nowhere except to a doctor to check out the aberration in my life. Perhaps I am getting scared.

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