Love, Loss, and Living After.

"I wish there was a medicine for grief, but sadly there isn’t. We have no choice but to face it fully, no matter how long it takes. You’ve got to feel it—cry, talk it out—and then, hopefully, one day, just one day, it starts to hurt a little less."
— Gbemisola, 2025

When my brother died, the first feeling I experienced was numbness.

Then came the intense sadness, followed by guilt—

and then anger.

I was angry at myself, and at him too.

I desperately wanted him to wake up from where he was lying. I hoped he was just sleeping, that he’d get up soon. But as the minutes turned into hours, nothing happened. There was no movement from the room where he lay.

I knew it wasn’t going to happen.

Even though I believe in miracles, I thought—maybe this one is too much to ask from God. Maybe His will cannot be overturned. Or maybe my faith was just not enough.

No matter how many pep talks I give myself about him being in a better place, or how much I tell myself that God loves him more than we do, I’m still finding it hard to cope.

Every day, when I go about my routine, starting from the bathroom, I either break down and cry or get sad all over again.

It’s because my bathing soap reminds me of him.

We sometimes used it together whenever I was home for the weekend.

When I apply my body lotion, it happens again—I remembered how he teased me one day, saying it wasn’t moisturizing enough, and I jokingly told him to go and use shea butter if he wanted more oil on his skin.

And every day when I comb my short hair, I get sad too.

He was the one who helped me do my big chop a few months ago, after I told him I was tired of my hair.

He was never mad at me for any reason.

Of course, he’d go quiet sometimes, but he always talked to me right afterwards.

But in the middle of all this, my deepest sadness was for my parents, especially my mom.

She didn’t cry when it happened.

She just kept talking—about him, about everything. Things that mattered, things that didn’t.

In my head, I kept wondering:

How do you console a mother who just lost her child?

What can I do or say to make her pain go away?

The truth is—I can't pretend to understand what she must be feeling.

So I prayed.

I prayed for God to console her.

I prayed for a miracle—something beautiful to happen in our family that would somehow surpass this tragedy.

I know it will get better, somehow.

I’ve watched people who have lost loved ones heal.

But I also know I’ll never really get over the pain of this loss.

I just hope it gets easier—

for me,

for my entire family,

and for everyone who is grieving right now.

Sometimes the quiet moments bring back the loudest memories. I’d love to hear from you—what little things remind you of someone you’ve lost, and how do you navigate those feelings?"

Keep resting, dearest brother (Sly). 🩶

Gbemisola Akinwale