Why Do We Love to “Love” the Dead?

Years ago, while growing up with my parents in a bustling city in southern Nigeria, I observed two striking realities. First, privacy in our home was virtually non-existent. My parents always had someone else’s child or a young adult under their care, nurturing and raising them as though they were their own. Back then, I thought it was a law—an unwritten rule—that you had to help raise other children in addition to your own, whether their parents were alive or not. It seemed to me that my parents had a divine assignment to render this help.

Second, I assumed this spirit of selflessness existed in every household. I believed people naturally sought out those in need and extended a helping hand. But as I grew older and confronted the realities of life, one haunting question began to trouble me: why do we show more love and affection to people only after they’ve died?

One incident from my childhood remains vivid in my memory. Shortly after we moved into a new neighbourhood, my mother, during one of her evening walks, stumbled upon a rundown house. The yard was overgrown with wild vegetables, and being an ardent lover of greens, she decided to investigate. She called out a greeting in the local dialect, hoping to get permission to pluck some vegetables.

To her surprise, a frail, untidy, and visibly weak old man answered. His voice trembled with exhaustion. As she got closer, she explained her intentions. He consented but pleaded with her to share some of the meal once it was prepared. His desperation was heartbreaking—it was clear he hadn’t eaten in days.

Alarmed, my mother asked why he lived alone in such a pitiable state. His response was both shocking and painful: his own children had labelled him a “wizard” and abandoned him to fend for himself.

Think about it—severe poverty, neglect, and malnutrition can age a person prematurely, making them appear “possessed” or unwell. But even if his children believed this misguided notion, was outright abandonment the only solution?

My mother took it upon herself to care for the man. She ensured he received three meals daily, cooked from the same pot as ours. She arranged medical attention for him, cleaned his home with the help of her faith group, and even introduced him to her beliefs. For months—perhaps years—she devoted herself to ensuring his well-being.

Then, one morning, she went to deliver his usual meal, only to find he had passed away during the night. She was heartbroken. But what followed was even more shocking.

Within 24 hours of his death, his children and relatives began to arrive. They came from every corner of the country—and even from abroad. It turned out this “abandoned” man had a large, connected family.

But the surprises didn’t stop there. His burial was an extravagant affair. The street was closed for three days as mourners gathered in droves. Food and drink were abundant, and guests partied late into the night. Souvenirs bearing his image, proclaiming how “beloved” he was, were distributed far and wide.

It was astonishing. The man who had suffered so much neglect in life suddenly became the centre of attention in death.

This raises an uncomfortable but crucial question: why do we reserve our deepest expressions of love and affection for the dead? Why do we go to great lengths to celebrate a corpse when even a fraction of that energy, care, and money could have enriched and extended the person’s life?

It doesn’t have to be this way. Let’s train ourselves to care deeply for others while they are still alive. Compassion shouldn’t be limited to those we know or are related to; it should be extended to anyone in need. Let’s resist the urge to retreat into our own little worlds, focusing only on what benefits us.

As the saying goes, “You cannot hold a torch to light another’s path without brightening your own.” True fulfilment lies in helping others achieve their dreams. If you’ve endured hardship, let it inspire you to ease the burdens of others. Instead of guarding your blessings jealously, share them freely.

Life is fleeting, and love is most meaningful when given generously in the moment—not when it’s too late to matter. That’s the mentality of greatness.

By Sharoneez Emephia