Remembering Tobi Oyedeji ... One Year Later

How did it end up like this?

The question will ring in many ears forever, but not Mike’s. He understands that this is life, and there is a powerful reason for it all; he doesn’t question it. 

Not ever. 

His son Tobi has been laid to rest for a year now. On Monday (the one-year mark of his death), Mike and his wife Nikki went out to see him; they prayed by his graveside, because today is Tobi’s day. Then they came home and waited. Mike took the day off from work. 

And the phone rang. Oh, the calls the Oyedejis no doubt fielded, from all corners of their lives. 

Not a soul will forget Tobi’s day, but only two will be caught in the conflux.

Now … go back to Friday: On this side of the weekend, those moments loom so large. An advancing, oppressive shroud that would blanket the future threatens at the edge of their consciousness.

Somehow the two are unflinching. They mesh into the couch against the far wall, facing family portraits above and cards of condolence lined up on the mantle. Tobi’s calm smile beams down from a hoops magazine poster near the stairs where he watches, a stalwart sentinel, over his loved ones. 

He’s all around them. They don’t want to trade his memory for less of this thing some call “pain.” 

Even while they talk, Mike reaches for the remote and flips it to Game Six of the Grizzlies-Thunder series. The stream of setting sunlight that had snuck in through the window is fading, ceding its rule to the night and the television’s light. For periods of time, he watches it with a transfixed gaze, a thin smile sliding across his features. He loves to watch basketball.

That is important — it doesn’t remind him of what might have been.

How did it end up like this?

Well, it certainly started with faith. 

Those stairs lead up to Tobi’s room, which to this day is untouched from the way he left it on the fateful night of May 15, 2010. On the right when one enters is the bed, and above where he once laid his head is a carefully crafted piece of paper that dictates: “Man can’t control my destiny.”

This is so because Tobi was a young man of extremely strong faith, and he conducted himself as such. He urged friends and teammates to pray whenever they could and led his life as a templar of obedience to God, and his parents readily credit him for that, describing the ways in which he forged that relationship and way of life on his own. 

Much of that may well have been true. 

Still, listen to those parents talk. It leaves little doubt from whence the inspiration came.

“I always think that he’s not here, and that’s the way God wanted it,” Mike says, his thick Nigerian accent cutting the air. “He was a man of faith. I truly believe no matter how hard you try in this world as a person, if you have a relationship with Jesus … if you don’t continue that journey, you’ll never get where you’re going.”

Mike and Nikki lean on their faith. It’s what keeps them going; all they believe can keep them going. They make a convincing case — it’s allowed them to handle the toughest of situations with the kind of grace few ever possess. 

Mike speaks briefly of his conversion to Christianity much earlier in his life, but forgoes the details. Though wonderful, it’s in the past, and that is not where the Oyedejis choose to live.

“It’s (been) very, very hard on us,” Nikki adds softly. “But we thank God for his grace and his mercy. Without Jesus Christ, I don’t think we could be here today. (We did it) with the help of prayers from everybody.”

“And knowing that everything, everything works out for good,” her husband finishes. “Including what happened to Tobi. It was meant to be. If it wasn’t, he would be here. I know that in my heart.”

It ends with determination.

Yes, the process really is that simple. 

The sounds of conversation drift into the kitchen, where Nikki is heating a batch of chicken wings. This is life now. They watch television, eat meals, go to work, go to church. As normalized as possible. 

“Things have changed in a way, because even though we try to maintain the fact that things are the same, we know he’s not here,” says Mike. “I don’t really process anything. Every day, he was involved in our daily lives. You don’t pretend. You try to think, ‘This is what we should be doing.’ 

“By now, we should be away from here. Not trying very hard, but being very natural about it. It has to be very shallow thinking.”

Determination is what pushes them. Determined to face it without dwelling. Faith without inquiry. Remembrance without sadness. 

Life is fragile, and it doesn’t end on Earth. Tobi left such a remarkable legacy and an impact on so many that it’s easy to see the positive instead. If that’s what makes up their “daily life,” then they’re pretty proud of it.

Then there are days like Monday.

“I’ve always been the kind that, all days of my life that are very special to me — like my birthday, my wedding anniversary — I just believe those aren’t my days to work,” Mike says with a laugh. “Those are my days. 

“So I always tell people that Tobi gave me another anniversary date. Because I made up my mind, every year on the day that he left us, I’m never going to work on that day. I will always dwell in the presence of the Lord. Always get myself in prayer mode. 

“This is one of the most important days in my life now. To reflect back and say, yes, truly, once upon a time there was a child that was my child, and his name was Tobi. This is his day.”

Tough? Of course. They will field calls, get gifts, visit his grave and more. They’ll stop to rest on the same couch they sit on now, the same couch they spent more than 24 sleepless hours glued to in sheer disbelief one year ago. 

Still, friends, family and co-workers are often stunned by their carefree mood, the joy with which they live. Mike and Nikki chuckle in speaking about it. To them, it’s almost crazy that people are so confused by their ease and so careful in dealing with them. 

But “Isn’t this how it should be?” and “Why shouldn’t we be happy?” are the prevailing thoughts. It’s about gratitude for the time they had with Tobi. They don’t plan on letting it stop there.

“I know that if I want to see him again — and that is the utmost thing I want to do in my life: I’m going to see this boy again,” Mike says with a laugh, but he wags a finger, punctuating his seriousness. And he’s dead serious. 

“So that made me make sure I live right and am even closer to God than I was before. To make sure I will keep my salvation, I will never lose it for no reason — so I can get to him. 

“That is the thing that drives us, to see him again.”

If the goal now is getting from here to there, one has to believe they know the way.

“What helped me a lot is that after hearing all the good things about Tobi, you say, ‘God, if this is the reason you took this boy to be with you…’ So we thank God for the way that he impacted people,” Nikki intones. “There is no way I can keep my head down when I know the way he impacted people. Now I pray to God to help me impact people as well.”

They want Aggies to know that they love the Aggie family dearly and they’re grateful for their inclusion in it. It’s meant more than words such as these can express.

“It’s hard to believe (it’s been a year). I don’t think there was any one time that we stopped and thought, ‘How did we get here?’” Mike ponders. “Things were just rolling on and we’re thankful for that. We didn’t have time to dwell on the negative side of it. We were all in a joyful mood, a reflection of the good days that we had.”

Most remember the Washington game this past December, when the team and the University honored Tobi’s memory and presented Mike and Nikki with a plaque commemorating the scholarship in their son’s name. 

Lesser known is the fact that Tobi's parents managed to come to three other games after the start of conference play — and they plan on being there for more during the upcoming season.

A&M president Dr. R. Bowen Loftin spent time with them during the Washington game. Athletic Director Bill Byrne has reached out to them. 

Mike lets out a hearty laugh, turning his eyes to the ceiling. His gaze seems to see something far beyond the roof of the house, reaching out into the vast expanse above. It’s an enlightened gaze.

“I’m stuck in (the Aggie family)!” he says. “When things happen, you have time to look at signs and hints from past events and statements. Tobi was very determined to go to A&M. I never wanted to change his mind, but my whole deal was I didn’t want him to do it because of us, because he was talented enough to go to any school who wanted him. And I wanted him to know, ‘Tobi, wherever you go, we will come.’ 

“But he visited A&M six times. I asked Tobi, ‘Why are you going to A&M when all these schools are interested in you?’ He said, ‘A&M is about family. A&M is a family. When you are there, you just feel like you are one.’ I liked that. It was right there at that table, and I hugged him and said, ‘Okay, then we’ll go (commit) on Saturday.’”

He speaks of knowing he can count on the people at A&M for anything. 

The prayers that floated their way during what he calls the darkest time of his life and still continue to … they want Aggies everywhere to know those prayers have been answered. It’s like Tobi never left, the way his memory has been kept alive.

When the time came for the Aggie basketball team’s postseason awards, the “Tobi Oyedeji Most Inspirational Player” award was instated, and Mike was asked to present it. Event coordinators advised him to come with something written down.

He spoke entirely from the heart instead and although he can’t remember most of it today, it was all true, and it was moving.

“The strength of the Lord and his mercy that has been all around us will continue to be all around us this day,” he says now. “It’s different, but what I found the most important aspect of it is having God at the center of your life and always coming back to God. Because I did not see the day that we’d be laughing again. I did not see the day that we would dance. I did not see the day that I’d be watching a basketball game and giving high fives. 

“There was never a moment that I hated basketball or hated looking at his teammates.”

Effusive as always in praise for Tobi, the two recount stories of their son’s life. They remain convinced that he would have made such an impact at A&M that he would never have been forgotten even if he had lived. 

His smile, his intelligence, his enthusiasm, his friendliness, Godliness and self-discipline have all been well documented. Mike says he would have connected to people on another level. 

The way he connected them to A&M. It would be remiss not to mention that Mike has a theory for that as well.

“Can you imagine if he had gone to another school?” he asks with a smirk. “I can’t even know what would have happened. God knows what He does. That’s why that boy chose that school. Maybe he didn’t know, but something was pushing him, ‘It has to be this way.’ Because of what we were going to go through. If it wasn’t for that school, it would have been so very difficult. That really impacted us, to believe that God helped him choose that school. 

“And he chose the right school.”

So how did it end up like this?

At some point in most men and women’s lives, their own demons call that question to descend upon them and reverberate through the dark and empty halls of their minds and hearts. It eats away at some until nothing remains, and beats others into sad submission. 

When the flame of life burns out tragically, we often stop and bow our heads, forcefully struck with perspective. The gravity pulls us to our knees and we try to remember only the good. We take from it what we can, and we lift that candle to the sky in our hearts. 

Then we stand and carry on; time carries those feelings down the river.

Not so for those left without a loved one. It lingers. Of course there’s pain. There’s sadness and solemn reflection. 

Yet what drives Mike and Nikki Oyedeji will come in due time. They stand solid on what they know to be two eternal truths to this dilemma: The past can’t be undone, and…

That single question is one we can never answer on our own.

That’s it. They’ll be just fine. So while he trusts it to God, Mike tears through some wings and watches the NBA Playoffs, chatting, debating and laughing, because it’s just another evening.

One closer to Tobi.