My father wanted an autopsy but that idea was rebuffed by my mother and some of my uncles. They claimed it was not only a waste of money and time; it was further going to prolong the grief.
Let the boy rest in peace. One of my uncles suggested. Daddy later gave it a nod and the next day, all in black, we headed for the cemetery for the burial.
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A week after Osaro's death, I resumed school again alone. The school bus would come pick me up at home and bring me back home alone. I could not get him out of my mind, he was my soul.
We were always together and always did everything together. Osaro was a funny little boy. He always mde the house lively.
He was full of pranks and sometimes very mischevious. I remembered all the little childish tricks that he had always played and I couldn't help but cry. I cried all the time, I cried in my heart, in my sleep and I felt my heart burn.