The Shock of Losing a Father

By Emudianughe Abimbola Akinjo

It was 8.53 pm, Sunday 24th October, 2021. While going through the papers for my Monday meeting, I received the most shocking news I had ever received in my 50 something -year sojourn on earth. My phone rang and it was my uncle. My heart skipped (that had been the state of my heart since Friday, 22nd October 2021). And the words tumbled out: “Iya mi, ma sunkun o, ma de sera e lese, daddy ti dake”, loosely translated to me “my mother, (he and my dad call me that) don’t cry and don’t hurt yourself, daddy has gone.”

All l could utter was haaa, haaa, haaa, followed by numbness. Gradually, his words sank in and reality hit me. Then came the torrents of tears. I was shattered. How could a three-day illness snuff life out of a man like that? Sleep eluded me that night. I stood by my bedroom window in the dead of night wishing l could see his image pass but nothing of such happened.

Monday morning and the journey to my hilly ancestral home of Idanre, Ondo State, began with my husband by my side, with I wishing the situation could still be salvaged even though he was a day gone in the morgue. Lazarus was four days dead and was stinking yet the Son of God brought him back and said if we have faith, we could move mountains and perform greater miracles than he did.

On getting home and seeing the number of people there, my faith flew out of the window. Poor me! For the second time in 24 hours, the reality hit me like a thunderbolt but I pinched and told myself l must not cry. So, l put on a stoic appearance which was only but a facade.

So my father is gone forever! I never thought it would be this soon. All my prayers in church that Sunday was for your miraculous healing. Prior to the brief illness, I had been hoping and praying that you would hit the big 90 and I had also visualized in my mind your special seat (flanked by my uncles) at your granddaughter’s wedding. But who am l to query God!

You see, my father and l had a special bond unknown to many. There was this connection, this love, strong but unexpressed between us. My dad would look at me yearning to open up and talk but he would restrain himself and with that look of regret at the corner of his eyes, he would stylishly drop the idea. And I, not being a good talker, would not prod him on.

My dad was not a Saint, so like any other mortal, he made some mistakes in his life. He had his own Achilles’ heel, that made him vulnerable and as such things happened, things he had no control over. But l loved him like that and l couldn’t have traded him for another.

My father, a thoroughbred, teacher of teachers, handsome oyinbo, mentor to multitudes, had inputs in the education of all that came his way; a politician per excellence and a fine priest of the Anglican Communion. A man with a grateful heart, no matter how little the token sent to him was, he would thank and thank and pray and pray to the extent l would start laughing, telling him it was okay. He kept pouring blessings upon me in the order of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob and I know those blessings are working and will continue to find expressions upon my life and family.

A responsible and caring father even to the point of death. He couldn’t watch his children spending their lean resources on his brief illness, so he reasoned together with God and the Almighty acceded to his request and closed his eyes in death.
So my father, Revd Canon Clement Akinbobola Akinmolayan Akinjo has joined the host of Heaven but l’m consoled in the fact that l have an Angel in Heaven, an Angel who will not allow anyone or anything to harm his lovely love child.

Adieu daddy!
Omo sama lila
Omo olodo ude
Omo okorokoro abe ko see ponla
Omo oberu o saghayo
Omo ja nibi dagegere
Omo ole won piripira pako nino won
Omo o kemo bolu
Omo o wejowejo mejo pa segbigba
Omo o toko bo ya beere ejo ana
Omo elekure adioki nurogho
Omo adaja, omo elegba
Omo okookiyan
Omo to sokole surusuru
Akara se meji nino agbada, tere sukoto.
Mike, Fejiro, Ochuko and Ebru join me to mourn you.

The tears are still flowing down my cheeks.

*Emudianughe Abimbola Akinjo sent this piece from Asaba, Delta State