Over the years, you had come from being the man I feared to meet to the man I always wanted to meet. When I started dating your daughter, I knew you were one person I had to meet if things were going to proceed our way. Yet, I prayed every time I was coming over for a visit not to meet you at home. And somehow, my “prayers” were mostly answered. I met Ma at home and we talked about my school work, health, about my people back home and the general things mothers like to talk about. I worried about the day I would meet and tell you about my plans for your daughter. I anticipated the many questions fathers ask their prospective sons-in-laws. I was not sure I had ready answers to most of them as a struggling student. The years rolled on slowly and that day finally came. And to my relief the questions did not come. You did not have many questions for me. I know it was a tough decision for you and believe me, it would have been the same for me too, if a young man from a far-away country knocked on my door and asked for my youngest daughter’s hand in marriage. You handled the situation with so much poise. Since the day you consented to my relationship with your daughter, you had looked upon me like a true son. I did not have to do or refrain from anything to win your affection. You cared about the things that interested or bothered me. You always encouraged me about things I wanted to do. You offered your advice quietly, never once did you try to force it down on me.
One lesson I learnt from you is the importance of the family - nuclear and extended. You were always attending some meeting or program for some member of the family. Some of the happiest times we shared with you were our Christmas family meetings. You lighted up every time your grand-children played the organ and we sang songs and hymns. You made sure other members of the family who were not present were also included through telephone calls. Our meetings usually went into the evening, and were climaxed by sharing the hampers gifted to you for Christmas. You found joy in sharing with us whatever you had. I remarked to Connie once that your home (Ofankor) was a supermarket. We never visited and came home empty-handed. When we brought you a basket half-full, we were sure to take it back full. Your last Christmas with us was particularly memorable. I remember we sat shoulder to shoulder to read a poem about Christmas from your phone. I remember your grand-children jumping over you, wondering if you could carry them. You never told them they were too heavy to carry.
Your home calling is tough for all of us. Our Christmas will never be the same. However, your home calling has taught me to make the best of the time with each family member, while we have them with us. It is still hard to believe you are gone home. For some unfathomable reason, I settled with the thought you were going to be with us much longer. You were always strong, willing to talk, never complaining, and attending numerous meetings and church programmes. Your passing away was the last thing on my mind.
Despite pain and sadness, I want you to know you will be missed by all of us, including your grand-children, Kabuki, Leela, Emoly and my mother. It was a great joy knowing you intimately as a father and friend. I am grateful for your good counsels, your legacy in the service of the Lord and in us your children.
Rest in peace.