It is Dunsin’s birthday today. It is really weird that I have to forever relate these two events, her birthday and your interment. But birthdays are good. I have really fond memories of how we had small parties in the house whenever it was my birthday. Just four of us, but we would dress up like we were going for owambe and just sit and have soft drinks. On days my aunt could make it, jollof rice! And then Gabstar would come and take true pictures, those days before photo editing softwares.*ROTFL*
I hope Dunsin enjoys her day today. And I am happy she got her naijacharities.wordpress.com blog launched today. Her big dream is starting.
A lot came to mind as this month started. It was November 4 2015 I set out for law school. I regret not doing my best in school and going through law school in 2014 like I shoud have. Maybe you would have waited a little while to see me get called to the bar. It was painful, realising how selfish I truly was in deciding to pick my own life and not live properly to honour you and mother by studying well in school. I failed. I did not go to law school. You died. I cried.
Maybe it spurred me, your leaving. I celebrated your birthday in May 2015 by asking God some delicate things. It was a month of prayer and fasting for me, getting into the Word and getting into God. He has delivered a tiny installment to me. This month, on the twenty-ninth, I will be called to the Nigerian Bar. It is bitter sweet, of course. All I ever wanted was for you to see me wear that wig and gown and see your proud smile. I can only imagine it now.
Somehow, I am still happy. I know if you were here, you would be extremely proud of me. And that though only makes me grateful, because in your life, you showed me all the love a son could ever need from a father.
I remember packing my bags on the ninth of November 2013, disappointed in myself for not going off to law school. I had to wait to write one other exam I failed. I was not ready to go anywhere initially. I just wanted to sleep and eat and get fat in the house. But then the job offer came from The Destiny Trust and you told me to take it. You told me I was born to do great things and I would succeed no matter what! You told me I was the best. You made me forget my disappointment when you could just as well ahve been disappointed as well. You were the encouragement.
Father, I cannot tell you what the years at The Destiny Trust have made me become. I am extremely high on confidence. It was like you planned it as a setup, because I began to realise how big God has made me. I cannot begin to recount the ordeals, the dealings of the Lord, the manifest successes and the powerful way God has shown up in my life, leading me to and through various mind-blowing opportunities for growth and impact. All the glamour aside, I am grateful because I found God in that seeming wilderness. That is my greatest accomplishment. And it is a starting accomplishment.
It brings tears to my eyes today. I recall how I wept as I saw that coffin being lowered into the ground. I don’t really know if it was from the realisation that I would never see you again or because the coffin looked like a giant Mars bar and I was wondering why it was being wasted. Or both. Both, definitely. You are a serious chocolatey goodness, inside and out.
Mother’s birthday is on the twenty-third. She really misses you. I have always wondered what the real idea behind marriage is and how you both could love each other so much. I mean all of your quarrels were always about stubborn me. Maybe I can say I have caught the bug. But I would give anything for you to be with her now. No matter how much I try, I cannot ever replace you.
I am not done yet, father. I am still a wrok in progress. When I keep it all on and in, I want your name on the map again, and I want your virtues extolled as one who fathered a great man. I am hopeful.
I thank God for the life you lived. I know you did too, while you were here.
So, if you get to talk with God today by any chance, please tell Him your boy needs a lot thrown in his way for good right now. And I don’t mind a few boxes of chocolate too.
I love you father. Rest on.