Originally written December 4, 2013

Hello Daddy.

I should have written this yesterday, but I was really tired and my laptop was acting up again. It’s been doing random stuff like that for a bit now. It’s very annoying but I can’t afford to get a replacement yet, so I’ll manage it for now.

Anyways, today I want to talk to you about ironies; essentially the irony of this death passing of yours. I cancelled out the death because I believe though you may be dead physically, you live on in the hearts of every single one of us who was touched by you.

So, to the first irony, it’s the number 13. You ALWAYS hated this number. I don’t think I’ve ever met any human being who hated a number as much as you hated that number. I use the word “hate” because we both know that’s the only word that truly expresses the utter distaste you had for that number. As such it is VERY ironic that the day of your passing is 01/12/2013. Alas you were not to see beyond the 13th year of this millennium. Never mind that 1 + 12 also equals 13. I know you get my point.

The second irony is the number 7. You ALWAYS loved this number. Once again, I don’t think I know anybody else who loved the number as much as you did. So I find it very ironic that there was nothing related to that number associated with your passing. Had you seen your next birthday, next month, you would have been 67. Had you seen next year, it would have been 2014, “14” being a multiple of “7”. It saddens me that you didn’t get to 70 or even the perfect year, 77. But as you liked to say, Almighty God in His infinite wisdom and mercy knows best. I actually just heard your voice in my head while I was typing that phrase.

The final irony I want to write about now before I go to bed, because I have a class by 9am and it’s already 1:32 now, is how you passed. For someone who advised SO many people on how to live healthily and improve their health by changing their lifestyles; for someone who bettered people’s health with natural remedies and saw them make remarkable turn arounds from illnesses that could so easily have claimed their lives; for you having done all these, to go the way you did, is the biggest irony of all. You see Daddy, you were human. No matter how remarkable your knowledge, no matter how current it was, no matter how extensive the research you had done to glean that knowledge, you were still just a man, and as it is with all men, prone to error. Hence, it wouldn’t have made you less of a man to have swallowed your pride and gone to the hospital to get yourself checked. Maybe it was because Mummy suggested it. Maybe you actually believed it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe you did think it was worth checking, but you thought you could soldier on, I probably will never know, at least not until I meet you again in heaven in eternity. But for whatever reason it was, it upsets me that you had to go the way you did. I just chatted with Bussie now, and she says the autopsy will be out today or tomorrow. I guess then we’ll know for sure what it was exactly that took you from us.

Right now Daddy, it still hasn’t sunk in properly that you’re gone. So many people have called, offering words of condolence and comfort and telling me to be strong. They don’t understand Daddy, that right now, I’m probably as strong as I’ll ever be concerning this issue, because the pressure from school work is buffering me from the pain. I can still feel it though. But I know I will feel it on a WHOLE other level when I get back to Nigeria. Rest assured that I WILL go back home for your burial. Only God can stop me from not going.

I miss you Daddy. Even if I’m not sure of any other thing at the moment, I’m VERY sure of that bit. I miss you A LOT. But I am strong. You taught me well. You taught me how to do what is necessary because it is necessary. And so, because it is necessary that I be strong, I am. I will make you proud Daddy. We all will. Mummy, Sister Tope, Gbenga, Bussie and me; we will all make you proud. I’ve got to go now.

Bye bye Daddy.

Your son,