So I watched you last Wednesday night as you drew your last
breath. Minutes before then, you had asked for water and I became very
afraid. So I refused to give you the water you asked for. It was cruel
and selfish of me. Yes, selfish. I had seen so many children pass
minutes after their drink and so I couldn’t bear to give you the ‘last’
drink. I watched you the Saturday before as you gasped for breath and
literally fought death to a standstill, you wanted to live; but
death refused to go away, it stood in the hallway waiting for Wednesday
night when you were your weakest. It waited till you were tired and
could barely lift your hands or mutter a coherent statement. Death
waited till our hopes were raised on the mountain of faith only to crash
it into the dust of despair. Death took you away from me.
I remember when you were born. I was 21. I sure was not ready to be a father but I was glad you were born. You brought with you a freshness of life, a part of heaven clung to you. When I first laid eyes on you 2 months after, I knew you were mine; I was in awe as I held you, a part of me, another me. You looked so innocent and adorable, helplessly beautiful. You grew so fast, bigger than your age. No one ever believed you were only 4 at that time; someone actually thought you were 8. I smiled because I saw myself. September 2013 was the beginning of the end, you had grown a little boil in your right eye (so we thought) but would never have thought it was Neuroblastoma, the oncologists said it was cancer of the nerves. My inside was shredded into a million places as the words dropped from the lips of the doctor that day but I never saw death, I believed you will come out of it, that you were a survivor. Indeed you were. You became an outpatient in LUTH but the most popular kid in the ward, they all called you Professor Joel ‘cause you knew the chemotherapy drugs, penthazocine, the painkiller you often cried out for when the mind-numbing headaches came. You were well-accustomed to the process of line-setting as you would often tell the doctors to tie the tourniquet on a particular arm and ‘tap’ the veins there (you had thought it made the needle prick less painful) before they inserted the scary needles into you. You were a fighter who in the midst of the pains that ravaged your body and stole your childhood, you still found joy in making your mum smile, you would dance and ask her to play your favorite song. You were a fighter who loved to be happy and would always deploy your little sense of humour to crack up the children in the ward and their parents. You were a fighter who cared for others.
Wednesday, 7th January, 2015 was like every other day, I went to work and would in my usual manner go to LUTH to check on you. There was no telling, it was going to be your last. As your hand interwove that of your mother’s, your grip was tight, but she had to pull away to call the doctors to attend to you, but you would not let go. Eventually, I replaced her hand with mine but then your breathing was slowing down, so it was barely a grip anymore. My eyes followed your breathing as the knot in my throat tightened and I prayed it was not what I was thinking. But right before my eyes, you threw in the towel, you took death’s hand and you journeyed away.
It’s been 5 nights and 4 days since you left and it still feels like a bad dream I have refused to awake from. It’s been 5 nights of grief and silent reverie. Your mum has been the worst hit, she was always with you even at those times you had lost your sight and would wonder if anyone was beside you. She was strong for you, she never gave up for one day; you had told her not to be afraid. Now, she would look at your clothes and playthings then the tears would flow but then not so much in grief but in admiration of the little wonder you were. Of how you would sit beside her in the kitchen and ask for a piece of dried fish, of how you would pull down your pants and tell her that she should allow you sag, just for that day and of how you would call out to her only to tell her ‘I love you.’ She loved you recklessly.
Joel, I am shattered because I was not there when you were born and I was afar off for most part of your life, yet I watched you die. I am shattered because I could not afford to give you the best things of life for my little means could only carry me so far. I am distraught because you went through so many nights, tongue-tied by blinding pain and the cancer cells that contorted your skull and face. I am angry at myself because I could have done more, I could have been more for you. I am sorry. But I feel encouraged by the love many have shown me (you) though I kept you away from them for so long a time. They prayed that you may live, they had faith that you could live again after you passed, they prayed for strength to bear the loss of you. I am sad but joyful. Though I lost you to a terrible cancer, I find joy in the fact that you are at ease, in peace and would never suffer again. I know your words to your mum will be for her to wipe her tears and to ‘Little’ (your aunt Queen), would be that you would give her your mobile phone if she could only smile for you, again; and to Joy (your other aunt), to dance a little for you just so you could laugh. I would give anything in this world to fist bump you again. I will always love you Joel, my son.
Death only won the battle, but you sure won the war. You are in a better place now. Adieu.
Akinlowo Olawoye
I remember when you were born. I was 21. I sure was not ready to be a father but I was glad you were born. You brought with you a freshness of life, a part of heaven clung to you. When I first laid eyes on you 2 months after, I knew you were mine; I was in awe as I held you, a part of me, another me. You looked so innocent and adorable, helplessly beautiful. You grew so fast, bigger than your age. No one ever believed you were only 4 at that time; someone actually thought you were 8. I smiled because I saw myself. September 2013 was the beginning of the end, you had grown a little boil in your right eye (so we thought) but would never have thought it was Neuroblastoma, the oncologists said it was cancer of the nerves. My inside was shredded into a million places as the words dropped from the lips of the doctor that day but I never saw death, I believed you will come out of it, that you were a survivor. Indeed you were. You became an outpatient in LUTH but the most popular kid in the ward, they all called you Professor Joel ‘cause you knew the chemotherapy drugs, penthazocine, the painkiller you often cried out for when the mind-numbing headaches came. You were well-accustomed to the process of line-setting as you would often tell the doctors to tie the tourniquet on a particular arm and ‘tap’ the veins there (you had thought it made the needle prick less painful) before they inserted the scary needles into you. You were a fighter who in the midst of the pains that ravaged your body and stole your childhood, you still found joy in making your mum smile, you would dance and ask her to play your favorite song. You were a fighter who loved to be happy and would always deploy your little sense of humour to crack up the children in the ward and their parents. You were a fighter who cared for others.
Wednesday, 7th January, 2015 was like every other day, I went to work and would in my usual manner go to LUTH to check on you. There was no telling, it was going to be your last. As your hand interwove that of your mother’s, your grip was tight, but she had to pull away to call the doctors to attend to you, but you would not let go. Eventually, I replaced her hand with mine but then your breathing was slowing down, so it was barely a grip anymore. My eyes followed your breathing as the knot in my throat tightened and I prayed it was not what I was thinking. But right before my eyes, you threw in the towel, you took death’s hand and you journeyed away.
It’s been 5 nights and 4 days since you left and it still feels like a bad dream I have refused to awake from. It’s been 5 nights of grief and silent reverie. Your mum has been the worst hit, she was always with you even at those times you had lost your sight and would wonder if anyone was beside you. She was strong for you, she never gave up for one day; you had told her not to be afraid. Now, she would look at your clothes and playthings then the tears would flow but then not so much in grief but in admiration of the little wonder you were. Of how you would sit beside her in the kitchen and ask for a piece of dried fish, of how you would pull down your pants and tell her that she should allow you sag, just for that day and of how you would call out to her only to tell her ‘I love you.’ She loved you recklessly.
Joel, I am shattered because I was not there when you were born and I was afar off for most part of your life, yet I watched you die. I am shattered because I could not afford to give you the best things of life for my little means could only carry me so far. I am distraught because you went through so many nights, tongue-tied by blinding pain and the cancer cells that contorted your skull and face. I am angry at myself because I could have done more, I could have been more for you. I am sorry. But I feel encouraged by the love many have shown me (you) though I kept you away from them for so long a time. They prayed that you may live, they had faith that you could live again after you passed, they prayed for strength to bear the loss of you. I am sad but joyful. Though I lost you to a terrible cancer, I find joy in the fact that you are at ease, in peace and would never suffer again. I know your words to your mum will be for her to wipe her tears and to ‘Little’ (your aunt Queen), would be that you would give her your mobile phone if she could only smile for you, again; and to Joy (your other aunt), to dance a little for you just so you could laugh. I would give anything in this world to fist bump you again. I will always love you Joel, my son.
Death only won the battle, but you sure won the war. You are in a better place now. Adieu.
Akinlowo Olawoye
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