HSD @ 60 Today, my brother, His Execellency, Sen. Henry Seriake Dickson CoN, the one life quietly turned into my father turned 60.

HSD @ 60
Today, my brother, His Execellency, Sen. Henry Seriake Dickson CoN, the one life quietly turned into my father turned 60.

This time last year, love quietly set our family in motion. Carefully. Plans were whispered in meetings, dreams sketched into visions, vendors briefed in low tones, every detail wrapped tight in secrecy. All of it cradled for one singular purpose: to honour a man who has spent his entire life pouring himself into others.

At the heart of it all stood Uncle Lawrence. I may have lit the first spark and driven the wheels, but he was the spine. Steady. Patient. Completely unassuming. He guided, encouraged, connected people, rallied quietly. He believed fiercely in the project, and even more fiercely in the man we wanted to celebrate.

True to Uncle Law’s nature, he wanted every piece perfectly aligned before anything was shown to the key stakeholders. He gave everything: selflessly, lovingly, without making any noise.

Somewhere along the line, my brother caught the scent. He started asking questions. So I travelled to Abuja and briefed him carefully, methodically, and sparingly, just as Uncle Law and I had agreed.

True to form, he insisted it must be low-key. Again. After hearing “low-key” a million times across decades, I pushed back: “Low-key again?! This low-key don full everywhere for this family!” We almost argued. When he pressed for more details, I chose silence because surprises, once exposed, lose their shine. He smiled, shrugged, and said the classic line: “Na you sabi.”

That is him. Always dodging the spotlight, always slipping away from his own celebration. But this time we were determined. Sixty (60) is a milestone that refuses to hide. Even he knew there was no escaping this one.

Then…suddenly, the unthinkable happened: Uncle Law was gone.
With him went our balance. Our strength buckled. It wavered. The long, painstaking woven plans froze mid-breath. The project didn’t end with an announcement. It simply collapsed under the unbearable weight of grief.

Today should have echoed with laughter and songs of “Happy Birthday.” But for the first time in my life and in our family’s history, those words sit heavy, almost impossible on the tongue. How do you wish happiness on a day, a season, so tightly bound in sorrow?

Still, even here, we gather. Today in Yenagoa we come together again as family to pray to God, the great mender of all broken things. We pray for healing for our beloved brother and for every wounded heart. We pray this kind of pain never again finds its way to the family of the departed, to our family, to the Ofoni community, to our community, to our state, and the entire Ijaw nation.

So, my dear brother, my father-by-fate: though this birthday carries no happiness in the usual sense, know this:
We are grateful.
Grateful for your life.
Grateful for your presence.
Grateful that even in this loss, love still remains.🙏

~ Dr MoD.