Undulating means that it waxes and wanes but never ever reaches the bottom of the graph. Meaning there’s no going back to “normal” and by normal, I mean, back to the way life used to be before the disaster, the loss (that’s what I call losing my mum because, well, that’s what it was…a disaster), back to life as you know it.

I took the liberty to draw the graph myself so you actually get what I’m trying to say.

When my mum died, I didn’t have time to mourn. From taking care of a number of people who actually fell (severely) ill when they came for the burial to having other circumstances that were out of my control, I kept postponing my grief. There was not enough time to cry, to be weak, to mourn or to even acknowledge the intensity and weight of what had happened. It’s like I understood it, I knew for sure what had happened (and how could I not know, right, I mean how could I not when we had to leave her lifeless corpse at the mortuary and I had to pick a “befitting” casket for her) but I had not yet processed it fully. In the midst of everything that was happening though, I knew that I would eventually meet what I was postponing, up ahead and it would hit me in full force. I did meet it, I just didn’t know that it would keep hitting me with a fresh force and pull, tearing me apart for /such a long time.

I like to think of myself as a “strong woman”. It’s even how I refer to myself when I’m talking to my close friends about some unpalatable thing that I’m going through, I say “don’t worry, I’m a strong woman, I’ll get through it”. In recent times I have come to acknowledge how little and fleeting my “strength” is in the face of my grief. Mostly, I seem well put together. Mostly. But there’s always a constant raging turmoil within me that like I said earlier, only waxes and wanes.

I think that it’s impossible to describe what it feels like, but here’s a shot. Each day comes with its own manifestation. At the core of it is a deep seated sadness, but especially depending on how surrounded you are, sometimes it’s tears, other times it’s fond memories and thoughts. Some days it’s a dark cloud you can’t escape from, and then some days it’s lingering uneasiness and restlessness.

I’ve certainly come to the place where I don’t even wonder when the fog would lift. I’ve come to accept that it would always be there, but the weight does change. On the good days it’s light and bearable, in the bad days it’s so heavy I think that I’m going to break down and cry every second (and I mostly eventually do).

People say that loss leaves a “scar” but I think that it’s definitely more than a scar. I know that it’s a figure of speech but I think that it still deserves better representation. Loss leaves a hollow, a whole part of you is taken away that you cannot survive well without and you’re suddenly left with a part of you missing. So you have to get up everyday and learn how to function without that part. It’s a new experience everyday, the learning. Because it also comes with unlearning how you function with that part of you. Everyday it takes mental and emotional strength that you never thought you had and then you’re exposed to this new person that you’re becoming.

This whole brand new and extremely different person from who you used to be. This new person that you are forced to become and some days you don’t feel like showing up as. This person that carries a deep hollow within. This person that life has left you to figure out. This person that would always be under the influence of Grief.

I really can’t believe it’s November already.

Its been 9 months since my Mama died and I wonder where all the time went.

This month has brought it’s own special wave of pain and deep anguish because it’s the month before December, which would certainly not be the “most beautiful time of the year” for me this year. November has also brought in talks of Gratitude everywhere especially on Social Media, as people reflect on how their year went.

My year started so horribly so at first glimpse of all the buzz surrounding November, I think; I certainly have nothing at all to be grateful for.

But that’s not true at all. Yes, my whole world has been turned up side down and inside out and I’m mostly barely walking slowly on thin, fragile glass, struggling to keep myself from breaking down at every point in time during the day and through all the days of the weeks. But also Yes, since my Mama passed, I have moved from one little miracle to the next.

1. I’m grateful that I still have the ability to take in air into my lungs and bring it out again, and then repeat. I’m grateful for life. I never thought that I would survive after my mum died, yes, my actual physical survival was really threatened. I never thought about harming myself but I hoped that somehow, I would just stop. It would all just stop. It never did and I never stopped waking up, and so I “moved on”, slowly but surely. So I’m grateful for this life, that has refused to stop. Because I garner there’s a reason that it did not and I’m going to find it, I have to. For my Mama’s sake.
2. I’m grateful for strength. Everyday, I woke up and found out a bit about what my new life required of me and I did it. I did it grieving, but it got done anyway. Especially the ones I dreaded doing; like taking care of my sick Aunt barely a week after my mother was buried for a life threatening condition she suffered, or being available for my closest family friends through a very difficult time in their lives or taking the very difficult family decisions I previously was not privy to. I did all that, weak, angry and frustrated. I would never know where I find strength to but I’m grateful I have.
3. I’m grateful for my close-knit family. My mother had always been the rallying point in every group she found herself in, especially her own family…she was, for lack of a better word, an Icon. The glue that kept everyone in place. Now I’m really grateful for that bond she strove so hard to create, because it’s holding, holding real tight. I think about how my aunts and uncles planned the funeral, how we were included and allowed to have a voice, how we had meetings and meetings almost every evening, how we never had arguments amongst ourselves despite everyone’s state of mind, especially at the time, how they never lord any decision over us and I marvel sometimes. Because these things happen, you know, the alternate versions of these stories, but they didn’t, not to me, and I’m grateful for that.
4. I’m grateful for my little brother. Because in the space of 9 months, he has grown up beyond our wildest imagination. He was the one person I was certain would become schizophrenic (asin, “run mad”, in Nigerian parlance), or would suffer clinical depression and would need meds, or just escape. Because they were so close, he and my Mama. SO so close. So it’s beyond intriguing to see him, on his both feet, struggling through his pain and frustration and doing all that he can to be great. I am deeply encouraged by this resilience and beyond grateful for it.
5. I’m grateful for my Mama. Because I got 26 beautiful years with her. And although it was so short, I am who I am because of who she was. Sometimes I sit back and wonder how one person could be so amazing. How one person could devote her life and pour herself into so many people. How she could be such a visionary, so much that her leagacy has provided and made available for us even after she left us. I’m in awe of her and hope to be even just a tiny bit of who she was. I’m grateful for my Mama.

I’m grateful to and for God because, you know, God.

I’m grateful that I can tell these stories now through all the hurt.

Cherish, cherish, cherish your loved ones while they’re still here. Tell them all the reasons why you love them and why you are grateful for them.

They may not be here for so long. Just like my Mama.

Congratulations Mama!

I did it Mama, your baby girl did it…“again” as I’m sure you would have loved to add.

That specialty you told everyone I was planning on getting into, I now have the privilege to actually do it.

My dreams are coming true Mama, my heart breaks that you are not here to watch it unfold.

Yesterday, as I drove to the exam center at dawn, it suddenly hit me that there was no one to pray for me and give me encouraging words to remind me that I didn’t have anything to be worried about. My heart sank Mama, so deep, it just sank. I remembered how you would always just sit and listen to me allowing Imposter syndrome eat me up and then when you would calmly reassure me that you trusted that I had all it takes. It always turned out true, I’ve always had what it took, just like you said.

This is such a big win…for us. But you’re not here to experience it. You would be so proud of me, and you would make sure I knew you were. You would have jumped about our small living room and called any and everyone of your friends and our family who was awake to share the news. Then you would talk about it all week, and then start thinking about my next move because you are always such a planner.

Now I’m celebrating with tears. I was not crying at first, but then I came into the room and looked at your photo beside our bed, smiling at me, and I saw you Mama, beaming with pride, and then the tears came.

Joshua had a big win too. Joshua, your favorite. The apple of your eyes. You would have really been super excited about these back to back wins. You would have been euphoric.

Now our joys would never be complete. No matter how huge they are, there would always be a void because you are not here to celebrate with us. It would not have as much meaning anymore because we can’t share it with you.

I’m encouraged that you see us Mama. You see our wins, and your heart is swelling.

Ours is aching though, and it seems the ache would never stop.

Congratulations Mama,

We did it!

I marvel at how much strength I’ve had to stomach my mum’s death. Really. Sometimes I have those brief moments when I reflect on the person my mother is (“is” because I don’t know when my heart would start accepting “was"), I shiver at how so many months have passed and I’m still able to stand, on my both feet. It truly is….incredulous.

Today I took the day off work to prepare for a paper I have tomorrow. I was the only one at home and so had so much time of quiet. It’s the quiet moments that bring the reminders of her absence. The first one I had was when I went to the living room to open the door for my brother and then I turned and there it was, our family photo. Just there. I stood still for about a minute just looking at it before he entered. From then it was like Pandora’s box had been open. Somehow I stumbled upon a tweet I put out a year ago about her. And it reminded me again about how much I absolutely adored her. Then memory after memory, I remembered how much of a prolific human being she is. One that I had the tremendous opportunity of calling my Mama.

Now, the tears are coming down, flowing freely. Everytime I cry it feels like a release, no matter how many times I do.

Mama, I miss you. So so dearly. More than my tears portray and more than words can express. I’m grateful for the time we had together. More than 2 decades. Time people have described as a lot. But I weep for the time we could’ve had together. You are more than everything to me. My rock, my world. Now you’re gone and my whole life feels so…Empty. Empty. An d Worthless.

I miss you Mama.

I miss you Mama.

Your Baby Girl.

The week before my mum’s burial, I remember always feeling empty and hopeless and at the same time having occasional periods of powerful rush of emotions. I was drained. Physically, mentally, emotionally.

I remember looking at myself and thinking that I would never wish that anyone would experience what I was experiencing. Even my so-called “worst enemy”.

I just got news that a colleague lost her mum and I feel so sorry for her. So so so so sorry for her. So strongly. Like I said, I would never hope that anyone experiences loss. We all grieve differently but I can imagine first hand some of what she’s going through and I really really wish that this didn’t happen to her. There’s absolutely nothing I can do for her but pray and I really hope that God’s comfort finds her and envelops her mind and soul.

Its been 6 months since my mum died and people looking at me would say that in some ways I’m moving on, and getting over it. That’s not true but that’s not the topic of discussion. I’m just trying to point out how quickly your life changes and you become a whole different person after the loss. And I’m so sorry that she would go through that.

She would become someone else, someone different from the person we used to know and it would take her time to sort out the attributes of the new person she is forced to be. That’s okay and I hope that everyone around her would have the wisdom and direction to know how to speak and relate with her during her period of metamorphosis.

When I started at my place of work after my mum’s death, I know for certain that I felt alone in my grief. Until somehow by providence I got talking to a colleague-friend and she told me that she also lost her dad around the same time I lost my mum. That little piece of information was so timely for me. It felt like I had this person on my “we keep moving team". This person that was trying her best too to just move. Little by little everyday. So when this colleague comes back I’ll tell share with her too. I’ll hug her tight and even point out her little team. I hope that she finds comfort from that too. From our Shared Grief.

Amen

I want to write about my grief. I want to write very frequently as much as I can.

Firstly because I hope that some one would read it and find the words that I searched so desperately for in those initial weeks. Also because I think it would help me heal and finally because I want to consolidate the memories of my mother in words that would last my whole life time. So that I never forget.

There is a problem though. Every time I write, I cry. Literally. I am still very pained. I don’t think this pain would ever go away, unfortunately. To avoid the pain and the tears, I run away from writing and so I’m not writing as much as I want to. Because I don’t want to feel the pain. I lean towards having days where my pain is tucked away in some place at the back of my mind where I don’t have to visit.

Like I said before though I’m sure that this pain would not go away. It would never get easier to write this. And I would not like to live in a world where these chronicles don’t exist. Even if it’s just for me.

So I would sit in the pain and allow the tears flow as much as I can. So that I can write. Write about my grief and the amazing woman I was gifted as Mother.

I sit in the pain with the tears overflowing.

Or don’t.

When your loved one dies, a phrase that is often thrown at you is “Be Strong".

When I started getting it, I initially thought it was because I’m my mother’s first child so people were looking up to my strength to help them cope and especially because I have a younger brother who is assumed would draw strength from me. So I took it in stride, and started convincing myself that I needed to be strong really.

Until I realized that they were telling my brother the same darn thing, and giving him a stupid reason; “Be Strong, you know you’re a man". You learn quickly that people who come into places of mourning feel the need to say things to and give unsolicited advice to mourners and most often just miss the point altogether and apparently the advice to “Be strong" is one of those.

I remember how about 4 days after my mother died, I was expressing my frustration about a decision taken by my family members that I didn’t agree with to my uncle and then he and my aunt were telling me to stop crying. Funny thing is, my uncle had also started shedding a few tears at this point. I remember telling them I would cry if I want to, my mother is dead and I was really tired and exhausted and we hadn’t even buried her yet.

Listen! You can be strong or don’t be strong. Do you my darling. Cry when you want to, cry when you feel like crying, cry when you need a release, cry every and anywhere. Let it out, brood, yell, scream, act crazy. Let it out. You earned it. Yes you did. You’ve lost a loved one. You never thought life would be possible without them but here you are still breathing, still alive, heart beating.

Do not allow anyone tell you what to do, how to feel or what channels to use to let out all the emotions that have crowded and are overwhelming you.

Do you my darling. Do you!

Don’t be strong or Be Strong.

Except from “Sitting in Grief: A devotional towards standing again" on YouVersion Bible App

When you lose a loved one, there would be so many people that would promise to fill the shoes of that person in your life.

When my mother died, we had so many of those. It was mostly her friends and I think that’s because as the breadwinner of her family, her sibblings probably understood that the void she left in all of our lives could never be filled.

Anyways back to the story. So I got things like “Oh, we are here for you", “You’ve always been like a daughter to us", “We’ll take good care of you" and all that. If there’s one thing I’m actually grateful for about my mum’s death, it’s that we got the opportunity to be adults when it happened and so we have minds of our own. I already knew that well, talk is very cheap and a lot of people were making empty promises at best. What I don’t understand is why they felt the need to make those promises. Why would they say things they knew they couldn’t keep up with? Did they do it intentionally or was it out of just the need to appear supportive? Do they know how much it hurts right now that they fell back on those empty promises?

Do not get me wrong, I’m not surprised and I’m not offended. I’m just in awe I think. I would never be able to forget this woman in particular. The day my mum died I was crying and screaming “I have no one now, what am I going to do now" and she was holding me and scolded me firmly and she was saying “Why would you say that, what about me, what about us, don’t talk like that". Suffice to say that now we go weeks without talking to her. I suppose we are in her thoughts though, Lol. I’m just saying, I know she doesn’t go weeks without talking to her own kids.

I’m not looking for a replacement for my mother. Far from it, she’s irreplaceable. I’m just trying to help you understand that it’s totally unfair for you to make promises to people when they’re at their lowest. Promises you can’t keep. Really, its not okay because they’re vulnerable and their hearts would want to hold on to the tiniest glimmer of hope. And if you’re grieving, do your best to block out those unsolicited promises. They will disappoint you in the absolute worst way if you hold on to them.

22nd May 21

Today is my mum’s birthday. I think the term that is commonly used is “Posthumous birthday", but for some reason I don’t even know, I refuse to use the term, I think I may even hate it.

Maybe it’s because there’s a finality to it. Since my mum died, I have hated things that put a stamp on her death for me. Like when one of my supposedly closest friend broadcast the news of her death on a group page without my permission, it was not about the act, it was the finality that it put on it. Just like posthumous.

I put up a series of posts on my WhatsApp status today to celebrate her. So many people sent their best wishes. I’m a very private person so I don’t put up personal posts often, especially about life events, especially ehen they’ve just happened. But today I knew that no one’s attention would be on my mum, and that in itself was too heart-breaking for me to bear. The attention was stolen by my little nephew’s birthday celebration. Abba turned one 2 days ago but since it was a weekday, they decided to move it to the weekend and it fell on my mum’s birthday. Also the Chief of Army Staff and his colleagues died in a plane crash yesterday so the country is mourning. All of these happened today, on my mum’s birthday. Even without these events, I imagined that very few people would remember that it was her birthday today because she’s dead and that made me really sad. I needed to celebrate my mum with myself. I didn’t want all of what was happening around me take away the fact that a gem was born today and I had the privilege of having her as my mother. So I did it for me. I needed to celebrate with myself. I needed to look at the photos and videos and laugh and cry at the same time. And I did. I’m still crying mostly but I enjoyed the day sort of. I enjoyed the intentionality of celebrating my mum’s birthday alone, with myself.

I had so many flashbacks today, it would be impossible to document all of it. But the most prevailing was her birthday last year. It was during the lockdown and she had just come back from reporting at the State Command. I was swamped at work but I managed to plan this very little surprise for her and she was so excited about it to the extent that I wished I had done more. I was so happy she was happy. She was really content with it. That’s the kind of person she was. So content with her life. So satisfied.

That’s the memory that plagued me so much today. She turned 57 that year and I had already started dreaming up all that we would do for her 60th and how it would look like. Little did I know that I had less that a year left with her.

Today during my CDS at Old Parade Ground, a bunch of Fire Service official vehicles came swooping in in formation and they dropped a Senior officer and his wife for a parade they were having. It’s ridiculous the things that bring tears to my eyes during the day.

Before my mum died she was a Comptroller. That pretty much meant that she ran a state in very simple terms and she had an escort detail similar to the one I saw today. So my throat filled up with a burning sensation. That’s what happens when I’m interrupted by memories of her during the day. It’s almost as if the tears gather in my throat before filling my eyes up.

I was thrown to how we spent our last Christmas with her in the state she was posted to. The apartment she was given was really small and we had to manage but it was the best time. If you know anything about my mum you’ll know she was a complete people-lover. She always had a crowd where ever she went and this was no different. Her officers absolutely loved her and even though the town was really sleepy we had a great time.

I remember how I used to make videos of her take-off and arrival with her detail. They were so protective of her, every single time. Even in the house when you’d assume they’ll relax. If only they could protect her from the cold hands of death.

And so I was thrown off balance at the sight right in the middle of my day. I wished I could just cry it out then and there but we were about 200 people and well, that won’t be a good sight. Cry it out right there and then because I learnt that holding it in is always a bad idea, so now once I’m at home or in a place where I can find some privacy, I just let it out. But I couldn’t do that today so i started thinking about her.

She was so excited about her last promotion and the prospects of her future. She was to retire in a little bit over 2 years and she was really getting ready and prepped for it. I loved how planned and organized my mum’s life was. She was never not ready to take up new challenges no matter what. She would have been getting another promotion this year and she was already prepared for what it would bring and how she would navigate that too.

I was so lost in thought that I was looking at the person sitting beside me while she was taking but I wasn’t hearing her. Turns out she was asking me for something and she had to call my name to shake me out of my thoughts.

The memories would come. Some times you would be able to block them but most times you would not. Whatever you need to do to make yourself feel better please do. Cry, let it out, talk to someone dear to you if that helps.

It’s okay. You’re okay and the pain doesn’t go away but you learn to cope better and better.