Tomorrow is not promised. Neither is reconciliation.
I never thought I would write these words about Uwa. Truth be told, my son, your dad and Uwa were not best buddies, especially after we left school. Life got in the way. Then distance. The kind of distance that feels permanent until suddenly, it is.
He died recently after a four-year battle with pancreatic cancer. He leaves behind a wife and three young children – all under the age of six.
Three children who will grow up without a father.
I knew him at UDSS– We weren’t best buddies but I remember him clearly. He was jovial – always laughing, always ready with a joke. I even made fun of his last name. He laughed then. I hope he knew it was never meant with malice.
And now he is gone.
To My Son: A Lesson Before the Rest
Son, I am sharing this with you because you need to understand something that no exam will teach you.
Tomorrow is not a given.
You and I have had hard conversations lately – about discipline, about focus, about the gap between your dreams and your daily choices. But this is different. This is about the fragility of life itself.
A man my age – a father, a husband – is no longer here. His children will never hear his laugh again. They will never have him check their homework, never have him drive them to football or extracurricular activities, never have him write them letters like I write to you.
You have me. Today. Right now. But today is not a guarantee of tomorrow.
So when I ask you to take yourself more seriously and reflect on the man you are becoming, to memorise the periodic table, to study more, to walk away from a fight, to put the phone down – I am not trying to control you. I am trying to prepare you. For a life that will demand discipline, resilience, and the ability to show up – because you may not always have someone showing up for you. I certainly wish these were reinforced when I was your age.
To My Alumni Family: A Call to Action
To every member of our WhatsApp group – thank you to those who have already contributed. Your generosity has not gone unnoticed. Because of you, and other friends and well-wishers both inside and outside this group, over 30% of the target funeral fund has already been raised.
That is remarkable. That is community.
But we are not there yet.
The gofundme fundraiser closes in a few days, with the funeral details already announced and shared.
To those who have not yet contributed: I understand. Times are hard. Budgets are tight. But please hear me – nothing is too small. Every pound, every dollar, every contribution – no matter how modest – adds up. It says to a grieving widow and three fatherless children: You are not alone.
History will be kind to those who help. Not because history remembers every donation, but because kindness has a way of rippling outward. When you give, you are not just funding a funeral. You are funding dignity. You are funding closure. You are funding the small mercy of a family not having to worry about money while they bury their husband and father.
A Final Thought for All of Us
None of us know how much time we have. Uwa fought for four years. I wish I could say he had time to prepare, to say goodbye, to make memories. But his children are so young – He has gone too soon!
So here is my challenge to you – to my son, to my alumni, to myself:
Make the most of your time. Invest in the relationships that matter most. Make the call. Send the message. Leave a voice note. Show up.
And if you can give – even a little – do it.
Because one day, it will be one of us. And we will hope that others show up for our families the way we can show up for his.
Rest in peace, Uwa. I will not forget you.
