Hi, Daddie.. Day 24. | by Zoë Olojede. | Sep, 2025

Day 24.

The 24th day of every month has been a reminder of what I have lost.

I joke about it sometimes — that you loved me too much to leave on the 23rd so you had to wait a day longer.

I miss you every day. It’s been a hell of a year.

It doesn’t help that I have a portrait of you of my wall that I get to see every day of my life now.

A lot can happen in 12 months. A lot has happened in all of the 12+ months that you’ve been gone.

And it’s not always in the big moments. It’s in the little things too — like how my laptop suddenly fails and I immediately want to call you to walk me through fixing it. Like how the Super Falcons won the WAFCON, and I knew you’d have written me a “your girls have made us proud, up women’s football!” epistle.

I still struggle with being handy. You spoiled me rotten when it came to that. I’d rather cry than replace a burnt bulb or find a way to fix the sink. I’m not quite ready to wear those big girl pants. I always tell my friends that my ultimate deal breaker is someone who isn’t handy. They say what I need is a handyman, not a husband.

Like most of my friends, you called me The Fixer, but I really saw you do it first.

Oh yeah, Liverpool won the league. I couldn’t stop talking about it for weeks. I must have shed a few tears too. My self-serving theory is that the hosts of heaven saw that I needed it so bad and gave me that win. Oh, what I’d given to have had a one-minute convo about it with you. I’d have done a lot of trolling, but not too hard because you’re still my father.

You’re the only reason I could ever sing along to North London Forever. Now I can’t help myself whenever I hear it. I sometimes wish I recorded us that day in May when we sang it together. I still troll Arsenal for a living, and I probably always will.

I also listen to Bob Marley and all those your reggae artists once in a while. I never really understood why you liked reggae so much, but I think I see it now? I now know Redemption Song word for word, and if it makes it to my top songs at the end of the year, I’ll be a little fulfilled.

C misses you terribly, maybe a little more than the rest of us. You both, forever besties.

I’m also a minister now, haha. I know that wouldn’t surprise you one bit because you always knew. There was a major program a month ago. Mum posted it a couple of times and called in to pray for me on the day it happened. 💙

I know you’d have posted it every single day, joined online and written, “Pastor Olojede, from Ibadan, guest of Zoe Olojede” in the comments. A little embarrassing, but I’d have been secretly proud. You’d done it once. And those are the things I miss terribly.

And while I’m not doing it just for you, I promise to carry on that particular legacy. I also go through your sermon notes once in a while. They’re mine now.

I kept your phone number — the forever iconic number. One of my current favourite pastimes is just watching it ring and wondering what the person on the other side of the line is thinking. It’s been over a year now, how do they not know yet? I also don’t have it in me to utter the words, “he passed away” every now and then, so I just watch it ring.

Your bank called a couple of weeks ago though. I decided to pick up, and I had to say those words. It left me crushed for that whole morning.

I reckon you might be embarrassed by how certain people have moved since you’ve been gone. It’s hearsay, but they say I am even more stubborn than you were. Absolutely. I carry that with pride. Lion no dey born goat. (Shouldn’t it be “goat no dey born chicken” though? Since goats are known for…)

One thing I have had to learn in this season is forgiveness.

I don’t think I realised how much I was carrying until I had to unpack it. I have also learnt that it’s impossible to understand things like loss and grief if you’ve not lived through it firsthand. You can imagine how it’d feel, but you’d never know how it feels. So, I’m learning to give more grace. And even more than it is for them, it is for me.

I’ve also had amazing people to walk through this entire mess with.

Damola has been an absolute rockstar. Frankly, I think I’d have given up a long time ago if she wasn’t here. Remember when you said you thought she was the closest thing I had to a sister the day I told you she was leaving the country? You were right. We also joke a lot about our fathers being heavenly besties and how you perhaps gossip about us. Honestly, we make a lot of unhinged jokes every now and then, because if we don’t laugh, we’ll cryyyy.

Uncle Dayo has been the best. I have a feeling he doesn’t fancy me saying it all the time, but I hope I never take for granted the one who understood and stood next to me when practically everything came crashing down.

Daddie Zoë, it’s been a privilege to have walked this life with you.

I (absolutely) still feel all the contrasting emotions and still go through the many distorted stages of a lifelong grief, but right now…

In this very moment, I just want to say thank you.

It also doesn’t mean I haven’t cried a river writing this, but…

Thank you for being my father, thank you for being my friend.

You may not have been perfect, but you were perfect for me.

I hope you watch me with the same pride you always had, because as I imagine, you couldn’t be any prouder of me than you already were.

I love you.

Forever + Always.

💙