I had gone to my paternal
grandpa’s house after school as I almost always did. A normal day at his
house was one where I told him about my day, then had lunch which the
cook always served without meat- I got that after I was done eating the
“main food”- then did my homework, had my grandpa check for errors, had
fried plantain as pre-dinner, waited for my dad to get me when he was
done from work, got excited when I saw him, kissed my grandpa goodbye
and went home with my dad.
June 23 1998 was not a normal day. Death visited my family and left with my dad.
I remember the events like they happened yesterday. 5:30 pm and he still hadn’t shown up to get me. I was fidgety and convinced that he had forgotten about me. How could he forget about me? I was his only child! Where did he go? Who made him forget about me? These were the questions going through my head and I couldn’t wait for him to show up so I could ask them. As I sat with my grandpa flipping those thoughts in my head, he was told he had a visitor- the Provost of our church Very Rev. (Dr) Segun Okubadejo. It wasn’t strange that the provost was visiting but I remember thinking why so late? I was happy to see him though. His white beard reminded me of “Father Christmas”. He hugged me, asked me all the questions that 11 year olds are asked and then began to speak with my grandpa. Nothing major. Just the usual, “how is this person and how is that person?” and then it got really quiet. His excuse was that he was waiting for someone. I went back to thinking “how could my dad forget me at Bode Thomas?”But I remember wondering why it was so quiet. It felt weird.
I remember the events like they happened yesterday. 5:30 pm and he still hadn’t shown up to get me. I was fidgety and convinced that he had forgotten about me. How could he forget about me? I was his only child! Where did he go? Who made him forget about me? These were the questions going through my head and I couldn’t wait for him to show up so I could ask them. As I sat with my grandpa flipping those thoughts in my head, he was told he had a visitor- the Provost of our church Very Rev. (Dr) Segun Okubadejo. It wasn’t strange that the provost was visiting but I remember thinking why so late? I was happy to see him though. His white beard reminded me of “Father Christmas”. He hugged me, asked me all the questions that 11 year olds are asked and then began to speak with my grandpa. Nothing major. Just the usual, “how is this person and how is that person?” and then it got really quiet. His excuse was that he was waiting for someone. I went back to thinking “how could my dad forget me at Bode Thomas?”But I remember wondering why it was so quiet. It felt weird.
Moments
later, I didn’t have to wonder any longer. All those people came in and
I burst into tears. Someone held me but I don’t remember who. People
were crying, some were whispering, some sighing but it all sounded like
one sad hum. Above that hum though, I remember hearing clearly, my mum’s
voice over and over again saying, “daddy is gone”.
My
dad was my first love. What I felt for him was love, fear, awe and
reverence all mixed together to form one powerful emotion. He was a
quiet, unassuming man whose favorite spot in the world was his house. I
learned to understand his looks; looks that put me in check whenever I
misbehaved. My stories (and I had lots of those) were shared with him.
My singing, dance moves, cries of injustice, ambitions… everything was
shared with him. He was the first human I felt any sort of connection
with, the first human I loved and in my little eyes he could do no
wrong. Taiwo Olawale Phillips was perfect.
After
he passed away, people kept telling me that he had lived long and I
should be grateful for the time I spent with him, grateful for how long
I’d had him around considering that for the 44 years of his life he had
lived with the dreaded Sickle Cell Disease.
I
knew he was often in pain but the concept of Sickle Cell was something I
couldn’t grasp. I just saw the bloated feet, the puffy face, the
off-white eyes, the struggle to walk and act normal when he was in pain
and I didn’t even know the pain was referred to as “a crisis” at that
time. All I knew was that my little body would have shared that pain if
it could. My bones would have gladly relieved his of what they were
going through; but all I ever did… could ever do…was stand by, while
others tended to him, and quietly say, “Sorry daddy”.post by expdonaloaded.blogspot.com...One
thing I’m truly grateful for is the memories I have of him. Amazing
memories! I remember times I made him smile and feel very proud like
when I got the lead role in “Annie” and when I won those birthday
“dancing competitions”. I remember him smiling the hardest though, when I
said something he deemed exceptionally intelligent. The day I said,
“NEPA is just for destruction and not for construction” must have been
one of the happiest days of his life. 17 years later, I remember this
statement and day vividly because he took me to my grandpa and made me
repeat it with a huge smile on his face.I
look back at the days I attended “grown up” parties with him; the days
he came running to my room because I’d woken up screaming… afraid of the
dark. I remember the walks to get Suya at UTC and ice cream at
“HighStreet”, the Sweet Valley books he got me reading, the Kids Praise
songs he played as he dropped me off at school, the stories he made up
to get me to keep my hands inside the car while he drove, the songs he
made up just for me, his laugh, his frown, his ruler on my knuckles as
punishment, him starting every chastisement with, “Toyosi, Toyosi,
Toyosi, how many times did I call you?” and my response almost always
being, “I didn’t count”.
I look back
at everything and I am grateful – grateful that the memories I have of a
father who truly loved me and proved it in his words and deeds. A
father who let me express and be myself and never made me feel like
anything was impossible. He let me climb trees to get apples at our
family friend’s house. He let me put on my one-man shows, let me run,
let me dance, let me pull up the handbrake when he parked. He let me be
ME, and for this I’ll always be grateful.
To
everyone living with Sickle Cell, I want to say Well Done! You
continually handle levels of pain beyond what regular minds can
comprehend. You are the true epitome of strength and resilience and I
pray for continued grace and strength for you.
To everyone else, especially those not familiar with Sickle Cell Anemia, it is a preventable, inherited blood disorder.
There are also tons of organizations and foundations looking for cures
and catering exclusively to people living with the Anemia; two of which
are the Morak Children Sickle Cell Foundation and the Sickle Cell
Foundation Nigeria. Feel free to show them love and support.
To Taiwo, my first love and personal angel, I miss you and I love you.
No comments:
Post a Comment