Title: Echoes of Daddy’s Voice

The morning my father passed felt like a cruel joke—like life had pressed pause and fast-forward at the same time. One moment, he was laughing about the news on TV, and the next, he was gone, taken by a brief illness that left us stunned and shattered.

January 14, 2024. A date carved into my heart. The day my world lost its light.

Daddy wasn’t just a father. He was Professor Dad—respected in classrooms, jovial in every room. A man of knowledge and warmth. A lover of sports who could talk about football for hours with my brothers. The house always echoed with his debates about players, goals, and team stats. Now, that echo is gone.

We buried him on March 23rd. I stood by his grave, numb. It felt like a scene from a movie—like he would suddenly sit up, brush the dust off, and say, “Glory, why are you crying? Go bring me cold water.” But no voice came. Just silence.

Since then, I find myself walking to his room, half expecting to find him on his reading chair, glasses halfway down his nose, chuckling at a sports headline. But the chair is empty. The room is cold. He’s not there.

Now it’s Mum—just her—carrying a weight meant for two. A widow with four children, pushing through each day with the strength of ten. She wakes early, sleeps late, and holds this family together with prayer, love, and grit. We’re not living in abundance, but we’re not begging either. That’s her power.

There are nights I cry into my pillow, nights I wish I could tell him just one more thing—how school is going, how I braided Mum’s hair, how much I miss his stories. He had so many dreams—especially about my wedding. He’d joke, “Your wedding will be talk of the town. I’ll invite men and women of timber and caliber!” I’d laugh then. Now, the memory squeezes my heart.

But even in this pain, I feel purpose.

Daddy’s expectations didn’t die with him. They live in me—in my drive, in my dreams, in my determination to succeed. I see my mum, and I know I must rise. For her. For him.

So, Daddy, if you can hear me—I’ll still walk that aisle. Maybe not with your hand in mine, but with your spirit in every step. I’ll wear that wedding dress with pride, knowing you would’ve danced like David. I’ll become that woman you believed in—strong, brilliant, unstoppable.

Because this pain will not define us.

Your voice still guides me.

And I promise, I will make Mum proud.