Remembering Mee: Never can say goodbye

Mee

The ironies of life, the raw complexities of the comic side of God, the inevitability of death and the phantom enlargement of the phenomenon called life, make God who He is, and rubbished the power of man.

May Ellen Ezekiel, MEE, Publisher Classique Magazine, pioneer Editor, Quality Magazine, host of MEE & You Television talk show, philanthropist and author was a rare human being.

With the heart of gold, beauty, boldness, strong willed, her smile is like the shine of a full moon at dawn.

My publisher, my executive producer, my teacher, my mentor, my beloved and ever precious and irreplaceable sister, above all my confidant and trusted friend.

Friday, March 23, 2018, make it exactly 22 years since the crude and cruel man, called death, forcefully took you away on a pilgrimage.

And it seems as if it was just yesterday. They say time heals. Perhaps, no. For me after 22 years, the cut is very deep and fresh. The pain is excruciating. The bleeding is ceaseless. 

Recently, I had told a highly respectable friend, that if I were to have the power to pray for the dead to come alive, first it would be you.

Then Deji Tinubu, whom the evil and wicked conductor going with the name death, suddenly drew out of the train of life leaving the assumed evil passengers to continue enjoying the ride. A good soul with an uncommon beautiful heart.

One who, the little time I knew him can willingly with a broad smile agree to die for another to live. Your kind, Please tease him for me when you both meet. 

MEEa dream never dies. As a proof of this, Barrister Mrs. Rose Odiete, President, Sunshine Foundation that you started, hosted over 250 old people and pensioners on Easter Monday, April 2, 2018, at Grail Land, Iju, Lagos to a lavish fun filled party.

A platform you initiated to celebrate, honour and show love to the elderly in our society. 

As they dined, wined and danced, I remembered how you fully immersed your entire being in the last event.

Doing everything as if you knew you were going to die without a good bye like a shadow of a fading half moon at a glooming morning.

I was able to see you moving around, chatting them up, hugging, kissing dancing and shaking hands with them.

I can still hear the echoes of your laughter, so real. The tears warm and salty like the platters of an unannounced rain on a noon day. The rhythm of my heart eat rumbled like a diabolic thunder on an evil errand to kill and plunder.

In this article:
May Ellen Ezekiel
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