Dear Cousin Tunde, First let me ask, how are you doing on the other side? What's it really like? Have you seen Jesus yet? Or your Dad or my Grandparents? How could it be that you left us so early? It seems so unfair that people who commit the worst crimes are still alive, kicking and in good health! Yet, the do-gooders, the earthly angels, those who spend their lifetime bringing joy to other people's lives such as yourself are snatched away by the cold, cold hands of death at an early age. Why? You were only 46 and it was assumed that we would rock out your 50th, 60th and at least 70th birthdays. You were so full of life..... you use to call me a foolish girl, for allowing those 'foolish' boys to pull the wool over my eyes. You always promised you would show me a good time, show me how the 'boys' did it? We never did get the chance to do that, did we? I never went to see you in hospital, 'cos I assumed you would be home for sure. how could I know? I feel guilty, 'cos I should have! But I thought at the time, I had to support your family, so I went to your home every other night.... little did I know that you would not be back. I feel cheated but then, why should I be, when you have kids who didn't even know you as long as I did? Dad wanted to come in, to see you... he said he was there at the beginning, at your birth and wanted to be there to see you committed to mother earth... but those uneducated twits at the the British High Comm in Lagos (and I hope y'all are reading this) said 'Am sorry Mr Thorpe, we couldn't read your fingerprints'. What fingerprints? Don't they have a procedure in place on how people should place their fingers for them to be read? Anyway at least he didn't miss the naming of his first grandchild, the first son of the first son of the first son of the first son of the first son! But his thoughts are with yours'....Am sure you were at the funeral 'in spirit', did you see all the people who turned out to bid you goodnight? (I say goodnight cos it's not permanent, we shall see you again, at some point) Your family, (both here and the ones who came in from all over the world), your friends, (those here and the ones who came in from abroad), your work colleagues, (past and present), your patients (those here and those who came in from Nigeria). They all had nothing but good things to say about you.... and it was all TRUE, cos they really saw you for who you were. We tried to be strong, to be brave, for if we breakdown cursing and crying as friends and extended family, what would Aunty Doctor (your mum), Aunt 'Lizabeth, Tele, Yemi, Tami and Feyisayo do? What do Cos M, Cos Iyabo and Cos Dupe, your siblings do? Besides that, you wouldn't have wanted us to cry.... you were the life of the party. Cousin Muyiwa gave a most eloquent tribute to you. Am sure you heard it and were most proud that he has finally understood that to grab the average crowd, speak the Queen's English the way it was meant to be spoken.... pronouncing every syllable and delivering your speech crisply. Tele, she said the most beautiful things to you and about you. She cried a bit, but you would have been so, so proud of the way in which she spoke, everyone was impressed. She spent all night writing that tribute to you and 'boy Oguns' was everything succinctly delivered! She 'shattered' her GCSEs and was sad you were not there to physically hear her results... but I bet you know that she did you proud. Yemi took it hard at first, but seems to be getting better. We're bonding better now, he was the first of the lot to call me Cos D....now they all do. The service, I cried - you know me, always ready to shed a tear or two, or three :) but I didn't weep. I went to the cemetery and saw your coffin. I watched for a bit as you were put in the ground, but had to turn away after that. It all seemed so final, so real. I couldn't take it anymore, I didn't understand it. I didn't understand life. I am not sure I ever will. Orim and Olo, they've been VERY good friends. They cried.... it was good to see African men and more to the point, Naija men cry. You will be pleased to know you have many, many good friends. It's a blessing. I still haven't broken down, still haven't really grieved, I stop the tears by making myself 'busy'..... maybe now is the time to just let it all out so that I can move on? Yet how can I? Yet I feel I am, as I write, the tears flow freely when I remember moments in time we shared. You came up to Aber with me, you, cos m, Aunty Doctor and mum to celebrate my graduation with an MBA (yeah, yeah, hard to believe I am actually intelligent!). Still have the pics, and will scan it in to complete this ode.
Got more bad news again this evening, Aunt Lara passed on yesterday at 43. She would have been 44 next month. Am tired and worn out! Life is so, so unfair.
On the flip side, Olumide and Ymc had a baby boy, 2 days after you died.... He is called Oluwagbeminiyi (meaning God has given me honour). He met you, before he was born.... what a shame you aren't around to tease him and 'stress' him as he grows older :).
We will all be OK, for we know you would not want us to weep, but to get on with living and to enjoy life like you did. Your life was always filled with excitement and fun... and I will start living myself from today. You taught me to enjoy the 'finer' things of life... and I will, and I promise, my next car will be the coupe we talked about. I miss you cousin Tunde. Mill Hill will never be the same without you, but what can we do, but to take comfort in the knowledge that you are in our Saviour's bosom. There's no one to call me 'Damilola', or to say 'see this young girl o', or to call me a 'foolish young girl' or ask me where I got a particularly trendy pair of shoes from or to ask me how my career plans are going or to ask me who the young man in my life is or to harrass whoever it is I finally take home (you did a far better job than cosM would :)) or even to tell me about the next latest trend in the cycling world, which you enjoyed so so much. You made such great plans for the next Tour De France...... How sad that you couldn't achieve it. Your presence will be sorely missed at mum's 60th, cousin Iyabo's 50th, Aunty doctor's 80th, my wedding day... and at all times when the family meet. You're gone for now, but I thank God I knew you and I especially thank Him for making you a member of my family. Do not worry, we will care for those you left behind. We will live by the principles which governed your life....'enjoy life to the fullest', 'see opportunities when they come and grasp them', 'live each day doing something good for someone', 'learn from your life's experiences or those of those and improve upon it the next time round', 'education is the bedrock of knowledge' and 'smile at all times, for it costs you nothing and may bring a ray of hope to another'.
Farewell dear cousin. Farewell, till we meet again. Till then, Rest in Perfect Peace.
Loads and loads and loads of Love now and always.... Dami
- 'boo xxx
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