THERE are departures the heart receives quietly, after the long preparation that illness and age sometimes impose. And there are departures that arrive before the mind has learnt how to say goodbye.
The departure of Oladotun Samson Oladipo (DOT) to those who knew him closely, belongs to the latter.
As colleagues, family and friends prepare to gather in his honour, we are confronted by the strange finality of remembering a man who, until so recently, was part of the living conversation. A journalist, publisher, husband, father, brother and friend has suddenly become a memory.
Yet memory is not a small thing. It is what remains when presence is taken away.
As we gather this week, on Thursday and Friday, to speak of DOT, remember his life and mourn his passing, we shall console his wife, his children, his family and one another. Then we shall return to the road of life, carrying on with the obligations that the living cannot abandon.
DOT belonged to a generation that learnt journalism the hard way, in the demanding traditional newsroom, before carrying its experience into the new world of digital publishing. He gave much of his professional life to journalism, eventually establishing The Eagle Online and contributing to the growth of Nigeria’s online media space.
But the man cannot be confined to his professional record. What many of us will remember are the encounters, the conversations, the laughter, the disagreements and the quiet moments of fellowship that seemed ordinary when they happened. We never imagine, while sharing such moments, that one day we will be looking back at them with the ache of loss.
That is the peculiar cruelty of death. It does not merely take away the person. It changes the meaning of yesterday.
A voice becomes a memory. A conversation becomes something we wish we could have again.
A familiar face becomes a photograph we linger over.
And a name that once belonged to the present suddenly belongs to the past.
This is why the coming farewell will not be easy.
As we gather this week, on Thursday and Friday, to speak of DOT, remember his life and mourn his passing, we shall console his wife, his children, his family and one another. Then we shall return to the road of life, carrying on with the obligations that the living cannot abandon.
But DOT will travel with us in another way.
In memory.
And that is where the Yoruba saying acquires its full poignancy: Ó DÍGBÈRÉ, ÀSÙN-TÓNÀ, L’ẸKÚN ÒGÈ.
We bid farewell, but as we walk this path of life’s journey, your memory will draw tears from us for the bond we have lost.
The tears may come unexpectedly.
In a newsroom.
In a conversation.
At the mention of his name.
When an old memory suddenly returns.
Or simply in one of those quiet moments when the mind remembers that someone who once occupied a place in our lives will never occupy it again in the same way.
That is the price of having known and loved someone.
We grieve because there was a bond.
We remember because there was a life.
We mourn because DOT mattered.
And so, when the final farewell comes, we shall not be saying that he meant nothing because he has gone. We shall be saying that he meant enough for his absence to continue to hurt.
Ó DÍGBÈRÉ, ÀSÙN-TÓNÀ, L’ẸKÚN ÒGÈ.
Farewell, DOT.
Your mortal journey will end in the earth, but your memory will remain among those who knew you.
And as we continue this uncertain path of life’s journey, there will be moments when we remember you and the tears come again.
Not because we have forgotten to let you go.
But because we cannot forget that you were here.
Ogundipe, public affairs analyst, former President, Nigeria Union of Journalists and former President, African Union of Journalists, writes from Abuja.
