30 years ago, Labor Day was the 6th of September, and I went into labor. Quick and easy came out a perfectly healthy little boy. A bundle of joy with an unstoppable positive spirit. Love personified. Olufemi, Ayomide. Brave and kind, with a sage-like soul.
You lit up our world with your bright eyes, sunny smile, superlative intelligence, and humbly witty charm. I sang love songs to you as a baby. You serenaded me with them as a young man. “ You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, that makes me happy when clouds are grey. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away”.
I’m grateful that I had 22 years with you to show you how much I truly love ❤️ you. (I can almost hear your typical response: “Mum, you know I love you more”). You left 8 years ago, and my world stopped.
After the immobilizing “great sadness,” I’ve tried to keep living well to honor you. I went back to school to get an MSc in Psychology and now a Ph.D. to fill the gaps you left in my life. I never got to see you graduate. You were 3 months away from graduating when you fell ill. My certificates feel empty without you.
I’ve tried to stay focused on being the best version of myself every day. I’ve offered love to many as I knew you’d want me to. I’ve faced rejections and adversities that your presence would have eased. I’ve been in situations where your wise interventions would have soothed me. Particularly, I miss hearing, “Don’t worry, mum, we’ve got this.”
As a family, we’ve struggled to cope with your absence. You were the glue that held a lot of us together. I now understand Jacob’s cry, ‘Everything is crashing against me’ (Genesis 42:36). As a mother, all I keep learning to do is to carry the multifaceted pain with more grace. I remain grateful for the privilege of having been your mum.
Yet, sometimes, in my safe space, the ache erupts in an avalanche of tears. Some people think, “Oh, come on, you should have stopped crying by now!” Nobody seems to understand…. I’ll never have a mother-son dance at your wedding. I'll never hold your children in my arms. I'll never visit your home to say, Honey, I just came to you to get away from it all.
You would have been 30 years old today,
Oh, how different my life would have been. No words can ever express the depth and breadth of this loss.
You are unforgettable and irreplaceable. With all my heart and every fiber of my being, I really wish you were here .