That house in Ilorin

I often imagine another life for my uncle
One where he does not live alone
In a house he built
A house with empty bedrooms and a deserted living room
Where children are supposed
To sleep and play and live in

But, you see
Life happens
And families break up
And divorces are ugly
And people get bitter
And children side with their mother
And private matters become public gist
And the entire town hears
About the girlfriends
The betrayal
The imprudence
And there is no going back

I often imagine another life for my uncle
One where he is not ill
And he does not put on a brave face each time we see
Or a firm voice each time I call
One where he does not feel the need to pretend
That everything is alright

You see
My uncle is the splitting image of my father
And sometimes when I look at him
All I see is my father's face
And this is too close to home
This is too close to my chest
How his heart has broken
How he is his own undoing
But are we not all shattered pieces?
I cannot get the image out of my head
Of how, at a time he should be surrounded with family and laughter,
He instead sleeps and wakes and lives alone
In that house in Ilorin