I stared at my father, as if by looking at him long enough I could will him to open his eyes, even if only for a second. Uncle Kumi arrived with my mother who rushed up to my father’s bedside and let her hands fall on his face. Uncle Kumi stood on the other side of the bed with his hands in his pockets. Dr. Boateng walked into the room and Uncle Kumi asked me to leave. I obeyed, and I fell asleep on a bench in the hallway, only waking at my mother’s touch. 

“Cudjoe, you must say goodnight to your father.”

Her hands shook.

The next Sunday was Abena’s third birthday. It was the last time my mother wore her beautiful Kenteki dress. A year ago, we had picnicked on Labadi Beach. The water was calm, the air smelled of seaweed, and we made sand castles on the golden sand. What I remember most about that day is the buttery frosting that iced Abena’s cake. This time, there was no cake. We gathered around my father’s bed and the soft sound of Reverend Boakye’s bible being read filled the room. Auntie Cece held a handkerchief up to her nose and sniffled. Uncle Kumi and Auntie Serai stood beside each other at the foot of the bed. My uncle’s face was straight as if he had a thousand thoughts on his mind, while Auntie Serai faced the floor. Abena sat on the bed beside my father with her thumb fastened between her lips. She looked around, confused. I stood at the head of the bed. At the end of the prayer, my father looked at up at Reverend Boakye.

 “Amen.” He was smiling, the same way that he did whenever he saw me after a long absence. He wasn’t drowsy, or in a deep sleep like the last time I visited. After everyone else stepped out of the room, I shifted toward him.

 “Dad, are you coming home tomorrow?”

 “Not tomorrow, Champion,” he replied. 

 “Why not?” 

His arms and chest were free of the tubes, the big noisy machine had been switched off, and the hospital had cleared his table, as if he was soon to be discharged. My father smiled at me.

“Champion, I’m going to a place where you and I, your mother and Abena will all be together someday.” He took a deep breath and gestured. I placed my hand into his open palm. It felt cold as he squeezed mine. His lips quivered. “Cudjoe.”

“Yes, Dad,” I answered. 

“Take care of your mother until I come home.”

“Yes, Dad.” I nodded.

“Cudjoe,” he called again.

“Yes, Dad.” 

“Take care of Abena until I come home.”

“Yes, Dad.”

His eyes searched the room. He let go of my hand and placed his arm on my shoulder. “Cudjoe, where’s your kite?”