Actor Alexx Ekubo's Wife Anwuli's Heartbreaking Tribute At His Funeral

Actor Alexx Ekubo was laid to rest on June 19,2026 and the heartbreaking tribute you are about to read was penned by his beautiful wife Anwuli Ekubo- Okwaraeke.......

She wrote 

To My Dadaa

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…”
For as long as I can remember, you sang those words to me. It was one of the countless little things that belonged to us, a simple song that never failed to make me smile.
What I never told you often enough is that somewhere along the way, the song became yours too.

Because YOU are my sunshine.
My answered prayer.
Before there was Pookie.
Before there was Pookstar.
There was Asa.
Asa Ikuku.
One of the very first names you gave me.
And before there was Nwa.
The name that somehow became home.
The name became so much more than a name. It became who I was to you, to your family, and to the people who loved you so much that your younger ones lovingly call me Aunty Nwa.

Every time I hear it, I hear you and am reminded that loving you gave me another family to love.
Our story began long before we did. Our mothers prayed together, shared fellowship, and unknowingly planted the seeds that would one day become one.
The day our mothers met. Looking back now, I see God’s fingerprints all over our story.
You had a way of making every ordinary day feel extraordinary. The one person who could make me laugh until my stomach hurt and tears rolled down my cheeks.
When my mother passed away a year ago, you were my anchor. You held me together during a season when everything felt heavy. Your love gave me the strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

I find myself reaching for you in a hundred different ways each day, only to remember that I cannot. I am learning what life sounds like without your voice in it, and I do not think I will ever stop missing it. More than ever, I realize how much of my heart, my laughter, and my everyday life was wrapped up in you.

There are moments when I still expect to hear your voice, see your smile, or feel your hand in mine. How do I learn to live in a world where I won’t hear the random bursts of you calling out, “Pookstar!” from another room?

My world is shaken right now, Dadaa, and the silence is deafening.
How do I make sense of this pain?
You remembered the things that mattered most.

You remembered the people you loved, birthdays, anniversaries, important milestones, and details that most people would overlook. Not because you had to, but because you genuinely cared. There was hardly a topic you could not discuss. Your curiosity knew no limits, and I was constantly amazed by how much you thought deeply you thought, and the perspective you brought to everything.

The people you loved never had to wonder whether they mattered to you. You had a way of making sure they knew. Your parents and siblings knew that love well.
You celebrated their victories, worried about their burdens, remembered what mattered to them, and showed up for them in ways both big and small. Family was never an obligation to you. It was a blessing and a responsibility you carried with joy.

Through you, they became my family too.
You loved them fiercely, and I hope you know that I always will too.
Dadia, rest easy. I’ve got them.
Some of my favorite memories are found in our banter in Igbo. We had our own language within a language filled with slang, jokes, nicknames, and expressions that made perfect sense to us and absolutely no one else.

If love could be measured in little things, you would be impossible to quantify.
It was in the details you carefully recorded.
The things people mentioned once and forgot.
I treasure the notes you left for me around the house.
I would find your notes tucked into drawers, on mirrors, beside my things, hidden in places only you think to leave them. Little messages from my Dadia to his Nwa. Sometimes sweet, sometimes silly, sometimes just a simple reminder that I was loved.
Those notes were never just pieces of paper. They were little pieces of your heart, proof that even when you weren’t beside me, I was never far from your thoughts. Today, they are among my most treasured possessions.
I think often about our long drives, our late night walks, the quiet moments we spent talking about everything, pausing to pray in between, our picnics just outside our home, the food you cooked, the countless moments we spent in the kitchen, the heart of our home, or sat beside our little garden simply enjoying each other’s company.
Nothing extraordinary.
Nothing complicated.
Just us.

Looking back now, I realize that some of the greatest expressions of your love were also the simplest. I didn’t need grand gestures to know I was loved. I found it in the notes you left behind, the details you remembered, the prayers we shared, and the care you brought to even the smallest moments.
Through the way you loved me, I caught a glimpse of Agape, the selfless and unwavering heart of God.

And in loving me the way you did, you raised the standard of what love means for me.
Even now, when I do not know what to do, I find myself reaching for the wisdom you gave me. You are still the voice I hear when I need guidance. I still find you in every act of kindness. You remain the standard by which I measure kindness.

Our marriage was, in so many ways, a faith journey. We prayed together, trusted God, and held His promises together. No conversation was ever too ordinary for prayer, encouragement, or a reminder to trust Him.
Your relationship with God was deeply personal. You spoke about Him the way people speak about someone they know and love. Faith was not simply a part of your life. It was at the center of it.

Alexx Ihenna Ekubo Okwarakeke

Perhaps the greatest gift you gave me was helping me know God on a deeper level. Through your faith, your love for God, and the life you lived, you brought me closer to Him. Thank you.
One of the promises we held onto was, “This is not unto death, but unto God’s glory.” Those words became more than a scripture to us. They became a declaration of faith, a reminder to keep trusting God regardless of what we could see. I hold onto the truth that God’s glory is not diminished by what we do not understand.
Even now, I hear some of your favorite scriptures echoing in my heart.
“And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose.” — Romans 8:28
“For God is not the author of confusion, but of peace.” — 1 Corinthians 14:33

“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” — Jeremiah 29:11
Today, those verses are harder to understand than ever. Yet because of you, I am holding onto them, and even in this pain, your faith continues to guide me.

You spent your life trusting God.
You pointed so many people back to Him, including me.
Dadaa, you mattered. To so many people. In so many ways. And that is why this loss feels so enormous.
But grief is not the end of your story.
You are home.
I know Heaven welcomed you with the same joy you brought to so many of us.
And I know God’s beloved son has come home.
Loving you was the easiest decision.
Being your wife was the greatest honor.
I will always be grateful that, of all the people in the world, I was the one who got to share this life with you.
And having your love is one of the greatest gifts God has ever given me.
I hope you always knew how deeply I loved you, Dadaa.
I thought I understood the depth of that love while you were here.
But if there is one thing this loss has taught me, it is this: I loved you even more than I realized.
You are my sunshine.
My only sunshine.
Now, whenever I hear those words, I hear you.
You are my Dadaa.
And always will be my favorite HUMAN BEING.
Forever your Nwa. 

Anwuli Ekubo-Okwaraeke.