I was on my way to drop my son off at school when my brother called. It wasn’t unusual for him to call in the morning, so I didn’t think anything of it. He was asking about my dad’s health history, and I assumed they were already at the a&e. We had spoken the night before about taking my dad in. He hadn’t been visibly sick, just tired, and I thought it was something routine.
I told my brother I would call him back.
Normally, during the school run, we would call my mum so she could speak with my son. That was our routine. But that morning, I felt a strong nudge in my spirit:
Talk to your son instead. Pray with him. Do his affirmations.
So we did.
We prayed.
We spoke life.
I dropped him off.
Then I called my mum.
She was screaming.
She was speaking Yoruba in the way only a woman who has just lost her life partner can speak. In that moment, before any clear words were formed, I knew.
My dad was gone.
The Moment My Body Stood Still
I didn’t scream.
I didn’t cry.
I walked to my car, sat on the bonnet, and I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t feel my legs.
I couldn’t feel my hands.
I couldn’t feel my body.
Then my brother called back, he was weeping and apologising.
Everyone expected me to collapse. They knew how close my dad and I were. They knew he was my everything.
But what they didn’t know was this:
God had already prepared me.
How God Told Me
Five months before my dad passed, I had a dream that he died.
I didn’t tell anyone.
I prayed.
I fasted even while breastfeeding.
I sought God with everything in me.
After the fast, I had another dream.
This time, he was very sick.
I kept praying, believing I was interceding to stop it. But what I didn’t understand then was that God wasn’t asking me to prevent it . He was preparing me to survive it.
Later, when a close friend’s dad passed and the dream seemed “wrong,” I relaxed for a moment. Then I prayed again.
And the dream came back.
That was when I knew.
It wasn’t about if.
It was about when.
When Grief Doesn’t Look the Way People Expect
When my dad passed, I was the one cooking.
I was the one comforting people.
I was the one holding everyone together.
People wondered if I was in denial.
But my grief didn’t start that day.
For three months it felt like:
I just can’t speak to him.
Then one day, it hit.
I found myself on the bathroom floor, fully clothed, under a running shower, screaming from a place so deep I didn’t recognise my own voice.
That was my breaking point.
Because grief is not linear.
Grief has no timetable.
Grief does not perform for people.
My Dad: My Greatest Love
My dad wasn’t just my father, he was my everything.
He checked my reports.
He asked about my work.
He requested pictures of the boys almost every day.
He was involved in every part of my life.
He was the standard of love for me.
The Gift God Gave Me in My Pain
After he passed, God began to show me something else:
What could have happened if he had stayed.
And I understood, my dad didn’t just live.
He lived well.
He did what he wanted.
He loved deeply.
He was fulfilled.
He had us.
What more is a successful life?
That revelation turned my pain into gratitude.
To Anyone Grieving Right Now
Grieve how you need to.
If you laugh, laugh.
If you go out, go out.
If you work, work.
If you play games, play.
And when the wave comes…
Let it come.
Because it will.
And when it does, it is not weakness.
It is love looking for somewhere to land.
Three Years Later
Today makes three years without my dad.
And while the ache never fully leaves, neither does the gratitude.
If I ever come back to this world, he still has to be my father.
No negotiation.
Final Thoughts
When I say God is my everything, this is why.
He prepared me.
He carried me.
He is still carrying me.
And today, I choose to remember my dad with joy while I hang out with my boys, the legacy of his love living on through me.
Dad, thank you for loving me the way you did. You are still my standard. Always.
With Love,
A daughter (Ayo)
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