I don’t think Uncle Dele died on the day he slipped and fell in the bathroom. Aunty Nike and I had rushed him to the hospital even if we knew it was futile. While on the way, Aunty Nike had calmly told me that many years before I came to live with them, Uncle Dele had kicked her in the stomach. She had lost her second pregnancy, and that was when he had first died in her mind. So when he fell down in the bathroom on the morning of his second death, Aunty Nike just watched him beg for his life. He spasmed, clutching at his chest as her smile curved into a plastic smile. As far as she was concerned, the corpse only awaited burial.