I trust that you are well, over there. Of this fact I am vaguely certain, seeing as you were always a good man; never doing to others what you would not have them do to you. I trust that you had many helpers on the way.
I have not seen any of my egbons since we said that near empty farewell in Iperu, your hometown. I say empty because I know that the pomp and fanfare would not have resonated with your childlike spirit. I hope you are not cross that I may not be as close to the others since you left, but one can only be true in these matters. I do not begrudge them daddy, far from it. But I cannot honestly say that I feel the need to spend time in their company, or even maintain a statutory once in a while telephone conversation.
In truth, you were the connecting thread that kept the fabric of that nuclear and extended titular family somewhat from shredding. I miss you daddy.
Looking down upon us I hope you will not be too upset about the move I made seven months ago. In fact I hope that you are no longer tied down to matters affecting these parts; there is so much more for you to experience and live yonder. I am sure that from there you can see things in a clearer light, can perceive things for their content and not necessarily for the outward form which deceives the majority of us who are still blinded by what our flesh, blood and brain can fathom. In this vein I want to believe that your heart might go out for us ever so often, for the entanglements which we burden ourselves with and from which we are afraid and too weak to break away from, especially those ones for which you may feel partly responsible because you knowingly or unknowingly encouraged it.
So I made the move. I tore away and damned the consequences two weeks after you left. I have the conviction that stagnation brings about retrogression; the sort of retrogression that I have experienced in the past decade and half. I so wanted to maintain the status quo, for you and everyone else, but I know better now, and I forgive you for not seeing the hopelessness in such vivid colours as I did all those years ago. I forgive you because it was my lesson to learm; not yours. I had written the notes of that song and it was my responsibility to dance the tune as long as I needed in order to come to recognition.
The tearing away has by no means been easy, but I have faith that the fight is a good one and in the end validation will be mine.
I felt bad that I had not made Moboluwaduro and Moboluwajoko get close to you, especially in those last days, so that they will learn that the earth still had a few good men out there, men who kept their words and did not compromise on their values.
Two weeks ago, I read a notice that Mr B left last month; his funeral was last Thursday. Just six months ago he was at your farewell, I wonder if he remembered this on his deathbed as I remembered it upon seeing his funeral notice. Incidentally, Mr EC also left the night before B’s funeral. What a sombre mood that put me in! I refused to go pay his wife the customary condolence visit. She may not even remember me as an acquaintance of her youngest daughter, will going there to mumble ‘I wish you strength’ make his passing easier for her to bear? Besides, does the number of condolences make the weight lighter?
I am becoming increasingly wary of many such ‘customary acts’ in my bid to discover true self, and I am less likely to do something that my spirit does not accept. I know now that I should have undertaken this journey earnestly a long time ago, even at the risk of displeasing you and many others; No one knows the time they will be called away. In this new knowledge, I take on new experiences each day and I find myself learning things about me that I never knew existed. It is my time to experience the words ‘ All that is dead in creation shall be awakened that it may pass judgement upon itself…’
I pray that both our individual experiences set our spirits soaring high on, till we return home. See you again in Paradise!
I love you.