My beautiful Mommy
Saying Goodbye…for now
I broke down crying in my father’s arms, once he implied that my mother might no longer be alive. I was expecting it, but at the same time I wasn’t prepared for that reality.
My faith is something that has always given me hope in difficult situations. This is not faith, the way the world likes to throw the term around, but faith in the only true living God. So while it was horrible seeing my mother go through all the things she did, I had this inner knowing, full of confidence that all was going to be fine, regardless of the outcome. When we made our way to the hospital that day, she was already gone. We were ushered into her room, to pay our final respects…well in the United States, until she was taken back home to be buried.
I was like John when he was told Christ’s body had been taken away from the tomb, and he rushed there, but did not enter immediately; that was my exact reaction. I walked ahead of everybody, but as soon as I got to the door of her room, I just stood there, not really believing what had just happened. “Me? Evi? Do you mean to tell me that my mom is gone?
And I will no longer blow up her phone with phone calls, just to see if she woke up that morning? I wouldn’t have anyone else to call me sweetheart? Who will cook my favorite meal for me? Who will take me shopping? Who will I call when I’m broke after I have spent the money daddy has given me? Who will I talk to when I’m sad? Oh! What a cruel world this is! These words by Job rang true—
“I cannot eat for sighing; my groans pour out like water. What I always feared has happened to me. What I dreaded has come true.”—Job 3:24-25
My biggest fear had finally come to pass. There was no escaping this one. As we paid our respects, and my brother covered her beautiful face with kisses, that face which will only be limited to dreams; I took one look at the King James Bible, which lay still on the side stool by her bed. A book that held all truth, a book that was gifted to me by my father before I left South Korea for Lafayette, and I had no zeal to pick it up. I left it with her lifeless body as if to make a statement that she needed it more than I did.
I think it was about two days later when I said bye to my father and brother; I had to return to Lafayette since I had a class that winter, which was soon starting. I went back home, trying to forget my sorrows and my friends together with my cousin, made sure they rallied around me, in those tough times. Initially I thought it was all a nightmare that I would soon awaken from, but that didn’t happen not even 10 years after that fact. I did not have it in me, to go to Nigeria for her funeral; who knows, I might have entered the grave with her.
So when my dad suggested that we stayed behind, I agreed with no hard feelings, although Ufuoma begs to differ. I spent my day at the gym, the day of her funeral. One of my older cousins called me after the fact, describing her day as that of Princess Diana’s —“People came from far and wide to pay their final respects. Your mother was indeed a great woman.”
One night while I was asleep in my room, I heard a knock on my bedroom door—“Evi, Evi, open up.”
“What is it Ufuoma?” I answered,
“I can’t sleep.”
“Do you want to sleep in my room?”
“Yes!” He replied.
So I quickly got up and opened the room for him, and he came in and slept off on my bed, till morning. We became each other’s support system; I knew he missed her a lot because they were very close.
The dynamics of my family quickly changed; mom’s sisters had to step in, and take over the yearly visits she made to the US. Just one look at my mother’s sister the summer of 2010, and I was taken back to how my mom looked and spoke.
Fifth Time Around
“Evi,” my mother’s sister said to me one day, “Aunty Beatrice has passed away. When I informed her of your mommy’s death, she was so devastated and succumbed to her disease a few months later.” It was a mystery what went on that year in our neighborhood. All of a sudden two houses next to each other lost their matriarch, and to cancer. They died within six months of each other.
Looking back, I will never know what urged me to ask my parents to come home in 2009, when that year began. If I did not push for it to happen, the next time my mother came visiting, would have been the time of her ailment. Although she was already sick, no one knew, and we were still able to get the best of her during that one month we spent at home. I remember when she took me to the airport (Ufuoma left before me) and after I had passed through security, I looked back at her, and she said—“do you want to hug me? Come now” and I ran back to hug her! It was as if I knew my time with her would soon be up.
You may be wondering about the fear factor, and if I have finally overcome that fear which lingered in me all those years, I can proudly say yes! God set me free from it, and that only happened in 2017. Now I know that He hasn’t given me a spirit of fear, but of power, love and of a sound mind, and I have the mind of Christ! I mean, what is there to fear when the greater one resides on the inside of me? That fearful little girl, who grew up in Port-Harcourt city, no longer exists.
Can I tell you something spooky, but yet hopeful? Shortly after the death of my mom, I saw her in my dream. She was dressed in white and no longer in pain. She was full of joy and gladness, and as soon as I spotted her, I ran to her, giving her the warmest embrace, quickly looking through her body, searching for any signs of that dreadful disease. “Mommy!” I said to her, “you can come back now; you are well now.” To which she responded—
“No oh, (as a typical Nigerian, even in death) I am not coming back, but God wanted me to tell you that he is proud of you and the way you handled everything.” I was blessed by the words she spoke to me! Like wow! The King of the Universe is proud of me? I was no longer concerned with her returning, I was convinced within my spirit that she was doing better where she was, and I hold on to this eternal promise, that I will see her again!
Thanks for reading this story, it has been one of the hardest thing I have ever had to write, as I recounted some of the painful memories I experienced surrounding those events. Be sure to catch up on all the parts if you haven't done so yet. See the links below.
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About The Author: Evi Idoghor is a Christian, writer, and content creator on Letstalknationblog.com. She is a chemical engineering graduate from the University of Louisiana at Lafayette. Consumed by her love for writing and desire to effect change, she launched her online platform––Let’s Talk Nation––to tap into her creativity and start meaningful conversations that would make a difference around the world.
Most of her writing has been influenced by her time spent in America, where she lived for about 11 years. Also, she lived in Nigeria and South Korea and currently loves traveling the world while learning about other fascinating cultures. You can find her on all social media platforms with @eviidoghor.