(July 6, 2024, One Year Without You)
By Olanrewaju Ojewale
It has been one full year since you left us, Kayode. One year since our world changed forever. One year since the earth stood still for our family and our hearts were shattered beyond comprehension. July 6, 2024, is a date engraved in our souls, the day we said an unexpected and painful goodbye to a man whose presence was as comforting as it was powerful. July 6, 2025, we gathered solemnly in remembrance, not just to mourn your passing, but to honor your life, your love, your laughter, and your legacy.
There are no perfect words to capture the depth of the sorrow we still carry. Grief, we’ve come to understand, is not a season that passes, but a companion that walks beside us. Some days, its grip is gentle; on others, it’s crushing. But every day, we feel it, because every day, we miss you.
Your passing at 40 was too sudden, too soon, and too cruel. We still struggle to accept it. It feels unreal to speak of you in the past tense, to refer to your life as something concluded rather than ongoing. But as we look back on this first year without you, we are reminded again and again that though you are physically gone, you are not lost to us. You remain deeply woven into the fabric of our lives, our thoughts, our prayers, and our memories.
You were more than a brother. You were a friend, a
confidant, a source of strength. I remember the countless conversations we had,
about life, family, faith, even trivial things that now seem so sacred in
hindsight. We laughed a lot. We argued sometimes. But through it all, we loved
each other deeply. And that love has not ended. Death may have claimed your
body, but our love for you is eternal, never ending.
You had a way of bringing light wherever you went. You could
enter a room and immediately lift the atmosphere with your smile, your sense of
humor, and your calming presence. You carried an energy that made people feel
safe, valued, and seen. Whether at the various family events, at church, or
even on the streets of Lagos while on duty, you exuded a quiet dignity and grace
that drew people to you.
Your coworkers at the Lagos State Traffic Management
Authority (LASTMA) still speak of you with reverence. They remember not just
the diligence you brought to your work, but the humanity you brought to your
relationships. In a line of duty that often demands toughness, you maintained a
balance of firmness and compassion. You were a leader among your peers, not
just in rank, but in character.
And then there was your deep, abiding faith. You were a man after God’s heart. Your commitment to the church was not performative. It was who you were, a man of prayer, of service, and of true Christian love. You prayed not just for yourself but for others. You gave your time, your gifts, your listening ear, and your encouragement to those who needed it. You embodied the Gospel, not just on Sundays, but every day.
Your church family misses you. The spot where you once sat
feels emptier now. Your voice, once raised in worship, is silent. Yet, your
spirit remains. The seeds you sowed in faith continue to bear fruit in the
lives you touched. You lived a life that mirrored Christ in quiet yet powerful
ways. For that, we are forever grateful.
Your son, Oluwalonimi, is growing beautifully. He’s getting
to two now, bright-eyed, full of life, and already showing signs of your gentle
spirit. Watching him grow is both a joy and heartbreak. It’s hard to see his
milestones and not wonder how you would have reacted, what words you would’ve
said, what gifts you would’ve given, what prayers you would’ve whispered over
him. It’s hard to accept that he will grow up without your guiding hand,
without knowing the warmth of your embrace or the sound of your voice calling
his name.
But we promise you this: he will know you. He will know who
his father was. We will tell him. Through stories, through pictures, through
memories passed down from your family, your friends, we will make sure he knows
the man you were. And more importantly, we will raise him with the love you
would have given him, the values you stood for, and the faith you held dear.
Your friends Segun, Fisayo, Yemi, Sunday, Samson, Funsho and
many others continue to speak of you with such fondness. They have not let your
memory fade. They reach out, they visit, they share stories. In their eyes, you
are still present. Still the same loyal, funny, thoughtful man you’ve always
been. Your friendships were not casual; they were deep, rooted in respect and
mutual care. That says so much about the kind of man you were.
As for our parents, siblings, and extended family, we’ve all
been doing our best to hold on. But it hasn’t been easy. There’s a permanent
space missing in our family, a place at the table that can never be filled.
Holidays feel incomplete. Celebrations are quieter. Even ordinary days carry a
shadow.
Sometimes I catch myself picking up the phone to call you,
only to remember I can’t. Other times, I scroll through old messages, voice
notes, photos anything to feel close to you again. Your voice still echoes in
my mind. I replay your laughter. I remember your advice. I still hear you
saying, “Don’t worry, everything will be okay.” We are learning to hold each
other in your absence. There are moments we try to be strong, and others when
the grief overwhelms us. We cry. We pray. We talk about you. We laugh at your
old jokes. We keep your memory alive. That’s how we survive.
What comforts us most is the knowledge that you are now in a
place of peace. A place where there is no more pain, no more tears, no more
struggle. You have gone ahead of us, into the arms of the Lord, where you now
rest in eternal glory. You fought the good fight. You kept the faith. You
finished your course. And for that, we thank God.
Still, the question lingers: Why so soon? Why you? Why now?
Those are questions we may never fully answer on this side of eternity. But we
trust in the sovereignty of God. We believe, as Scripture says, that “the Lord
is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” We
are broken, yes but we are not abandoned. God has been our strength in this
storm.
Kayode, you were the embodiment of many things love,
humility, compassion, patience, laughter, strength. And though your time here
was cut short, your impact was profound. You lived fully. You gave freely. You
loved deeply. You left nothing undone in the lives of those you cared about,
yes you sacrificed for your son, your wife, oh yes!
We miss you every single day. But today, on this one-year
remembrance, we want to say thank you. Thank you for the love you gave so
easily. Thank you for the sacrifices you made. Thank you for the memories you
left us. Thank you for being a brother, a son, a father, a friend, a man of
faith.
We thank God for the 40 years He gave you to walk this
earth. We thank Him for the moments we shared, for the lives you touched, and
for the testimony you left behind. Though your time was short, your legacy is
lasting.
We continue to hold on to the hope that one day, we will see
you again in that place where there is no more death, no more mourning, no more
crying or pain. Until that day comes, we will keep your memory alive. We will
love harder. Live better. Serve more faithfully. Because that’s what you did.
As we speak your name today, we do so not in despair but in
remembrance. Not in bitterness, but in gratitude. For we were blessed to have
known you, to have loved you, and to have been loved by you.
Rest well, Kayode. You are deeply missed, forever cherished,
and eternally remembered.
With all our love, always.
*Olanrewaju Ojewale, elder brother to Kayode.
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