April 21, 2021
April 21, 2021
TRIBUTE TO A MAN WHO WAS HIS DAUGHTER’S FRIEND
“Grief is just love with nowhere to go, it’s all the love you want to give but cannot” – Jamie Anderson.
When mummy walked into the living room and said “Adaeze, Frank anwugo”, my heart immediately tightened in the most uncomfortable way ever. I was expecting death but I wasn’t expecting it this soon. For someone who had lived up to 80 years, there was a pattern I was expecting; fall sick for a long period of time and then exit or get too old and then sleep gracefully into the afterlife.
On the day dad died, I was with some family and friends that were sent to help me receive the news better. I kept trying to laugh when something funny was being said but laughter couldn’t go through my heart, at all. I cried a lot. Every night, I held Yagazie in my arms and cried. I took really long walks just so I could cry my heart out. Everyone kept saying I should be strong for Mummy, but I knew I needed to be strong for myself first. I have felt pain many a times but this pain is different, it is the type of pain that might not go away at all.
My father was a VERY humble and simple person who lived here on his terms. His mind was very brilliant and wise; he gave the best advice and life lessons. It took little to please him; his needs were basic. He enjoyed simple pleasures like being hugged tightly or tickled. He was never demanding, nor mounted pressure. He was really humorous and always managed to make everyone around him laugh. Daddy taught me not to take life too seriously. He was always in good spirit, even on the day he died.
In a world where many are interested in riches or fame, he was never up for such needless struggles. He was always happy and content with his own share of the world’s fortune (oke nke a zuru ya). Dad was a kind-hearted man and treated everyone fairly. He was always very truthful regardless of who was involved, so honorable in all his dealings. Dad was a man of integrity.
Daddy, you should have stayed a little longer, just a little more. There was so much I wanted to do for you and with you. 80years wasn’t enough for me. You should have waited for mummy to get back; you can’t imagine how terrible she felt being away whilst everything was happening. She kept trying to be strong but was hurting. You didn’t meet Yagazielum; how did you not wait to physically see her, this child you prayed for? This child you danced for? This child you said looks like me? This pain is profound and I cannot even begin to describe it.
However, I celebrate your life and all the love and laughter you shared. I am so grateful for the close relationship we had, for the many tight hugs and laughs we shared, you were my friend. When you started to age, I started to look for you in people. You had all the time for me; you would listen to everything I had to say. You were always very excited to see me, always. We were close. Never once did I not feel your love for me. I was the person you called when you were mad at someone or needed something; you would say “ Deze Deze, enwekwa ihe m needy, achoro kwa m enye gi nsogbu, agwa go m ndi ozo mana ama m n’oso gi ga emenwuru m a kita”. I hope I made you proud to have me as a daughter. I hope I was a child you were happy to have had in your lifetime. Your death has redirected me to the path I should be on, the Path of Integrity.
Thank you for the poem “Desiderata” by Max Ehrmann, you gifted it to me years ago and it has been an amazing guide till present day.
We miss you terribly, Dad, All of us including Ebuka. I miss your voice at the other end of the phone, your jokes, your laughter, the way you called my name, every single thing about you. I will grieve for a very long time but like it is said in Thessalonians 4:13 – We would grieve but not like those who do not have hope.
Your journey has now ended. Hopefully, someday, laughter will go through my heart again.
May Mother Mary intercede for you at this most important time, Amen. May our Lord Jesus Christ forgive all your shortcomings Daddy and mercifully grant you the greatest reward of Heaven, Amen. With an extremely heavy heart, I wish you a safe journey home.
So Long Papa, gaa nke oma.
“Grief is just love with nowhere to go, it’s all the love you want to give but cannot” – Jamie Anderson.
When mummy walked into the living room and said “Adaeze, Frank anwugo”, my heart immediately tightened in the most uncomfortable way ever. I was expecting death but I wasn’t expecting it this soon. For someone who had lived up to 80 years, there was a pattern I was expecting; fall sick for a long period of time and then exit or get too old and then sleep gracefully into the afterlife.
On the day dad died, I was with some family and friends that were sent to help me receive the news better. I kept trying to laugh when something funny was being said but laughter couldn’t go through my heart, at all. I cried a lot. Every night, I held Yagazie in my arms and cried. I took really long walks just so I could cry my heart out. Everyone kept saying I should be strong for Mummy, but I knew I needed to be strong for myself first. I have felt pain many a times but this pain is different, it is the type of pain that might not go away at all.
My father was a VERY humble and simple person who lived here on his terms. His mind was very brilliant and wise; he gave the best advice and life lessons. It took little to please him; his needs were basic. He enjoyed simple pleasures like being hugged tightly or tickled. He was never demanding, nor mounted pressure. He was really humorous and always managed to make everyone around him laugh. Daddy taught me not to take life too seriously. He was always in good spirit, even on the day he died.
In a world where many are interested in riches or fame, he was never up for such needless struggles. He was always happy and content with his own share of the world’s fortune (oke nke a zuru ya). Dad was a kind-hearted man and treated everyone fairly. He was always very truthful regardless of who was involved, so honorable in all his dealings. Dad was a man of integrity.
Daddy, you should have stayed a little longer, just a little more. There was so much I wanted to do for you and with you. 80years wasn’t enough for me. You should have waited for mummy to get back; you can’t imagine how terrible she felt being away whilst everything was happening. She kept trying to be strong but was hurting. You didn’t meet Yagazielum; how did you not wait to physically see her, this child you prayed for? This child you danced for? This child you said looks like me? This pain is profound and I cannot even begin to describe it.
However, I celebrate your life and all the love and laughter you shared. I am so grateful for the close relationship we had, for the many tight hugs and laughs we shared, you were my friend. When you started to age, I started to look for you in people. You had all the time for me; you would listen to everything I had to say. You were always very excited to see me, always. We were close. Never once did I not feel your love for me. I was the person you called when you were mad at someone or needed something; you would say “ Deze Deze, enwekwa ihe m needy, achoro kwa m enye gi nsogbu, agwa go m ndi ozo mana ama m n’oso gi ga emenwuru m a kita”. I hope I made you proud to have me as a daughter. I hope I was a child you were happy to have had in your lifetime. Your death has redirected me to the path I should be on, the Path of Integrity.
Thank you for the poem “Desiderata” by Max Ehrmann, you gifted it to me years ago and it has been an amazing guide till present day.
We miss you terribly, Dad, All of us including Ebuka. I miss your voice at the other end of the phone, your jokes, your laughter, the way you called my name, every single thing about you. I will grieve for a very long time but like it is said in Thessalonians 4:13 – We would grieve but not like those who do not have hope.
Your journey has now ended. Hopefully, someday, laughter will go through my heart again.
May Mother Mary intercede for you at this most important time, Amen. May our Lord Jesus Christ forgive all your shortcomings Daddy and mercifully grant you the greatest reward of Heaven, Amen. With an extremely heavy heart, I wish you a safe journey home.
So Long Papa, gaa nke oma.