I have struggled to find words for the death of my King, His Majesty King Oyo Nyimba Kabamba Iguru IV. P I have seen him grow all his life. I watched him learn to play football and basketball, ride bikes, go to school, leave for university, graduate, and, year after year, grow into his Crown. I watched the boy become a man, and the man become a remarkable King. We were supposed to be planning his wedding, not his funeral. Perhaps that is what makes this so difficult to accept. None of us believed the King would die. Even His Majesty believed he was coming home. On the day he passed, we had expected him to be discharged. Only a week earlier, he was still speaking with doctors about new treatment options and participating in the daily family prayer hour. He was happy that Arsenal had started the season with a stronger squad. He was looking forward to this year’s Empaango. He was still making plans. Still hopeful. Still living. Oyo loved Tooro deeply. He loved Uganda. He loved his family, and he had a special closeness with our children. But above everything else, he loved God. He was truly a servant King: humble, gentle, and remarkably close to ordinary people. No one was too small to matter to him. He knew the names of his farm workers and bodyguards, and remembered people he met along the way. The Crown never made him distant from people; it made him feel more responsible for them. Today, our hearts are especially with the Queen Mother Akiiki. She raised a young boy carrying an extraordinary burden into a gentleman and a great King. What she gave Tooro, through him, can never truly be repaid. His loss is immeasurable. For our family, the pain is almost impossible to describe. For Tooro, an era has ended far too soon. But Oyo’s legacy will not die. It will live in his young son. It will live in the people he served, in the causes he championed, in the Kingdom he loved, and in the contribution he made to Uganda. And above all, it lives with God, the King of Kings whom he loved and served. I will remember many things about His Majesty. But I will also remember Amooti Oyo: my cousin, my friend, the boy I watched grow up, the Arsenal fan, the father, the son, the brother, and the gentleman behind the Crown. We were not ready to say goodbye. Rest in eternal peace, Your Majesty. The King is dead. The Crown mourns, but the Crown stands. Long live the King.