Today’s post is a spontaneous one and quite a short one too. I had planned to write on something else, but as the anniversary of Toluwanimi’s demise drew nearer, I decided to dedicate today’s blog post in his honour.

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I had heard of people going numb with shock, but I hadn’t quite experienced it myself, not until that fateful Sunday afternoon. The moments between Saturday evening when I got the panic calls inquiring about your whereabouts and Sunday afternoon when your death was eventually confirmed were emotionally unsettling. Everything that transpired in that space of time, including Sunday Service, felt sour. I subtly feared for the worst but hoped with every fiber in me that it was all a big joke — one we’ll have a good laugh over.

Soon, my deepest fears were confirmed, and for the next couple of days, I watched everyone bid you goodbye, still hoping to wake up from that unpleasant dream. It seemed more convenient living a lie than coming to terms with the truth. Sometimes, truth can pose as not just a hard pill to swallow, but also one that has the potential to choke the air out of you.

With each passing hour, it became more and more of a reality. It slowly dawned on me that I was never going to see you again – not that gentle smile of yours, not that sinister smirk you gave whenever I outwitted you, indicating that you’ll get back at me, nor the loud mischievous laughter you let out when you eventually do. All of that was gone.

Eventually, I had to make peace with reality and penned my own farewell in a journal. Here’s the entry, dated 14th July 2020:

“I guess this is it. I’ve run out of denial, and there’s no shying away from reality at this point. I have tried without success to force close the chapter in my mind that has you in it, but somehow, the scenes keep replaying, and I struggle to draw the curtains.
This is very far from how I thought our story would end… I mean, there are still so many blank pages we were meant to fill up together, but I guess this is the part where I scribble “The End”.

Painful as it is, we celebrate your life. Thank you for 9 years of amazing brotherhood. The friendship, the fellowships, the jokes, the teases, the prayers, the encouragements, the sleepovers, the trips, the football talks, and the list goes on. All of those are eternally etched in my heart. 
The narrative is the same on everyone’s lips — you had a golden heart.

Alapomeji—as I fondly called you—, You lived bro, you truly did!
Keep resting in the Lord’s bosom. Till we meet to part no more.”

Today makes it exactly one year since you departed. It still sits fresh in our hearts as though it happened yesterday. All the many holiday plans we made together have since been on hold, and there’s no one to call me in the middle of the night just to challenge me to a game of PES. To think we were supposed to go on a bike ride that very evening you passed on makes it even more surreal. I still want to go on that bike ride with you.

You didn’t stay long enough to celebrate your 22nd birthday, and sometimes, we can’t help but wonder what could have been if you stayed around much longer. However, in the short time you spent on earth, you managed to touch more lives than most do in a lifetime. The numerous testimonials are proof of your impact.

And while we continue to celebrate your life, our hope lies in our confidence that you’re resting in the bosom of the Father, and when all is said and done, we’ll meet to part no more.

Rest on, Toluwanimi.