I stood somewhere and watched. I watched as the fallen soldier’s contemporaries filed solemnly pass the breath-less body. First to do so was President John Dramani Mahama, nursed and nurtured by the departed soldier. What felt he? What felt he for his departed “brother” and “father?” “Have my belated apologies, Prof,” he might have said. “I should have been a better Vice-President. I should have been more pragmatic and pure. I should have prevailed against “them” to stop the “Prof-is-as-strong-as-an-ox” propaganda. Oh, how I wish I was a better Vice-President, a true deputy who will act while you stayed behind the scenes to direct and delegate. Irrespective of what the death-predictors and enemies said about such a situation, ignoring them would have worked as long as we did not violate the Constitution’s say on such matters.” This felt he? This felt he for his departed “brother” and father?” I tell no truth. I stood somewhere and watched. I watched as the fallen soldier’s contemporaries filed solemnly pass the breath-less body. Second to do so was Dr. Naadu Ernestina Mills, loved and loved by the departed husband. What felt she? What felt she for her departed “husband” and “friend?” “Have my genuine sympathy, John,” she might have said. “If it was a cup of water you need to quench your thirst, I will fetch it now, If it was food you need to satisfy your hunger, I will dirty a pan for you, but it is in the grips of death you lie and I am not able to rescue your breath of life from the nostrils of the Creator. Farewell, my love, farewell.” This felt she? This felt she for her departed “husband” and “friend?” I tell a truth. I stood somewhere and watched. I watched as the fallen soldier’s contemporaries filed solemnly pass the breath-less body. I watched as the Speaker of Parliament filed past the departed President’s mortal remains. What felt she? What felt she for the departed President? “Have my genuine sympathy, Prof,” she might have said. “Thank you for believing in gender equality. Thank you for knowing that capability should not and never be gender-judged. Irrespective of my gender and age, I will always be a capable Speaker of Parliament. Rest in peace, Sir, rest in peace. Adieu.” This felt she? This felt she for the departed President? I tell another truth. I stood somewhere and watched. I watched as the fallen soldier’s contemporaries filed solemnly pass the breath-less body. I watched as Nana Akufo- Addo filed past the departed President’s mortal remains. What felt he? What felt he for the departed comrade? “Have my sincerest sympathy, Prof,” he might have said. “And have my apologies for once calling you Professor-Do-Little. I confess it as a silly snippet of propaganda crafted in the name of politics. You did more than I could. Rest in peace, brother, rest in peace.” This felt he? This felt he for the departed brother? I know not. I stood somewhere and watched. I watched as the fallen soldier’s contemporaries filed solemnly pass the breath-less body. I watched as Ex. President Rawlings filed past the departed protégé’s mortal remains. What felt he? What felt he for the departed protégé? “Have my apologies and sympathy, Atta boy,” he might have said. “Forgive my uncivilized comments on what caused your death. Forgive my continual criticism of your leadership style and administration, but….but, it was necessary, I think. I did it for the good of Mother Ghana? If what killed you was Cassius, I will be Brutus. Farewell, John Cesar, farewell.” This felt he? This felt he for the departed protégé? I know not. I watched. I watched as Mother Ghana, finally, filed past her departed Son’s soul-less remains. What felt she? What felt she for the departed Son? She felt much, she felt much; for hers was the lost; she cried the most tears, she cried the most tears!” “Son?” she called. The dead stirred not. “Son?” she persisted. The dead stirred not. Then it dawned on her. Her first and foremost Son is no more! O death?! She moves. She stoops. She cries. O death! I moved. I went near and consoled her then filed past the mortal remains of her Son. “Sir, you did not join the silent ones without playing a part in Ghanaian politics. You did your best. And, whatever the case, whatever the cry; death has no care and no cure. But a Higher Power will call me a liar and bring back the dead to life. Adieu, John Evans Atta Mills; you played your part, you did your best. Mother Ghana salutes you. “Take a bow, Son,” she sadly says.