I REMEMBER
I know now that my confidence as a child came from you. I’ll always remember.
It is currently 2020 and the world is preoccupied with thoughts, fears and actual cases of the novel corona-virus which is rapidly claiming lives around the globe. Not enough people remember, don’t blame them but I remember and I hope it’s enough that I do.
Every year, some days more than others, I remember your lanky frame; not a very tall person but barely noticeable and so for most of my life, I believed you were the tallest man on the face of the earth.
I remember how jealous and protective you were. I’ve always wondered what dating as an adult would’ve been for me if you were still here; I’m almost certain that you would have threatened every single person and decided that none of them were good enough for me; you always did think that the sun rose in my eyes, your priced jewel and you never treated me less.
I remember you buying me a bicycle the night I poured hot water on my foot. Oh and smarties chocolate too. Every time I see a smarties pack, I think of you and remember that night.
I remember you being so angry because I was hurt and I remember how you yelled at everyone for ‘allowing’ your baby get hurt. I remember falling off the fridge and breaking my arm. You went everywhere and did everything humanly possible to make sure that I did not have a deformity. I remember you buying every multivitamin ever made because you were worried that I was not eating enough. I remember you promising not to take me to the hospital if I finished my ‘macaroni’ and you taking me anyway; somehow, this is one of my favorite memories of you.
I remember you feeling every pain that I ever felt, I remember seeing you cry when I was hurt and I remember you doing everything that you could to ease my pain, always.
I remember you being friendly and welcoming with strangers. You never walked down the street without greeting about 50 million people; it was really exasperating but ironically, I adopted it.
I remember you being stern and how silly it was of me to become afraid of you as I grew older; I wish I could take all that fear back.
I remember you being proud of me, introducing me to everyone and holding my hand everywhere. I know now that my confidence as a child came from you. I remember you taking me to the airport and buying me lots and lots of Lacasera and pringles.
I remember being proud of you; being in so much awe that I told everyone who cared to listen that you built the lights at the airport tarmac and when I fell in love with lighting design, I couldn’t help but feel like a part of you was going to be with me forever.
I remember your personal standards of hygiene and how you never let anyone eat so much as a biscuit without having them sweep up the crumbs; corona-virus would have had nothing on you.
I remember my favorite picture of us; you standing beside your car, me sitting on it wearing matching outfits and matching smiles.
Oh I miss you and remembering still hurts. 10 years later and there are many days that I still tear up thinking about you Solomon Olatunji Arowolo. Always seems like you died yesterday Pops. 10 years later and I still remember your smile, your scowl, your walk, your tears, your mustache, your ‘jalamias’ especially the brown one.
It hurts to remember the day I heard of your death, how I threw myself on the floor, crying and repeatedly muttering “but God I begged you”. It hurts to remember the 4 years you spent being a shadow of yourself because you were sick. It hurts to remember the one week I spent going to class with swollen eyes two years ago because I was just learning how to properly grieve my loss.
It hurts to remember every birthday spent without you, every father’s day, every visiting day in boarding school and every time I needed a hug from you but couldn’t get it.
It hurts to remember that I was only a child when you left; a child that did not know the importance of hugs, kisses or just sitting at your feet for hours on end because I would give the world for any of those right now.
It hurts to remember that you would not be at my university graduation or when I get awarded an honorary doctorate degree or when I start my companies, or when I get married or name my children. I can only hope that you are proud of me through every single achievement.
I miss you man.
Time heals, they said but my ache has not dulled. Maybe I’d smile when I think of you in the next ten years or maybe I’d still cry but I never want to forget.
I’ll always remember.
