My parents would have been married for 47 years now if my mother was still alive today. Sadly, we lost her four years ago. My father was 76 when it happened. At his age, I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him by himself. So I applied for transfer at work and moved home to take care of him.
I am not his only child. He had a daughter before he married my mum but she is not close to the family. She has never been. It was my brother and I who grew up with my parents. Unfortunately, my brother succumbed to a serious illness that afflicted him sixteen years ago. So it looks like I am the only child left looking out for my dad’s best interests.
About a year after my mother’s passing, I asked my dad if he had any plans to remarry. He said no. “I lived a lifetime with your mother. I can’t see myself sharing any of those precious moments with another woman. At my age, I don’t even have the energy to pursue anyone.”
I accepted his response as his truth. My dad is a pastor. One who always stood by his words. He is not one to say things he doesn’t mean.
So you can imagine how I felt when all of a sudden, Aunty Adjoa started visiting our house frequently. Too frequently if you ask me.
That woman used to come to our house when my mum was around. It was all about being neighbourly for her at first. But her visits after my mum’s passing had a mission. She claimed she was looking for a room to rent in our house.
Every time she came, we would tell her, “Aunt Adjoa, just like we told you the last time, there are no rooms in our house for rent.”
It didn’t matter how many times we sent her away, she kept coming. One day, when she showed up, she had bruises on her face.
“My husband did this to me and then sacked me,” she lamented.
One of her front teeth was missing. She said her husband knocked it out. We felt bad for her. We said sorry. Our answer didn’t change though. “We still don’t have any room in this house for you to rent. We wish you all your best in your search.”
Eventually, she moved into a house just behind ours. About six months later, her landlord threw her out. We don’t know exactly what happened between them, but she and her landlord caused quite a scene. “You are a witch,” the man screamed, “I don’t want you in my house anymore. Leave!”
It was bad. Everyone who gathered to watch them said, “Aww, poor woman.” But eventually, the crowd dissipated and we all moved on with our lives.
Just recently, I saw the same woman in our house again. I asked my father why she kept coming back. He answered, “She is still looking for a room to rent. Were you not here when her landlord sacked her?”
I felt if she was indeed serious about finding a place, she wouldn’t keep returning to a house with no rooms for rent. However, I chose to hold my peace and leave my dad to handle the situation.
Well, I was away on a trip when I heard rumours that this aunty Adjoa woman spent the night at our house.
When I confronted my dad, he finally admitted that since my mother is no longer alive, this is the woman he wants to marry. I couldn’t contain my shock but I managed to refrain from saying anything.
Guys, my dad is almost 80 years old. He is not working anymore. And the woman has three children — two in polytechnic and one in secondary school. How is he going to get money to take care of her should he marry her?
I understand that he must be lonely but marriage at his age doesn’t make sense to me. I am concerned. How do I address this without making my dad feel I am judging him? I want him to be happy but at what cost?