Years after my mother Uzoyibo died, I was never able to fully process her death. I did not realise the depth of the sorrow I carried in my heart until my visit to Death Cafe, Lagos, in 2017, eleven years after her passing. There, I wailed with so much longing for the woman I may never see again.
I learnt that it is not unusual for someone to take a long time to process the death of a loved one. Sixteen years after my mother transitioned, I still find myself in that process, not fully letting go, and not wanting to let go of her.
Why should I let go? My mother was, and still is, a big part of me. For many years, I felt guilty about her passing, wondering if I could have averted it, and haunted by the turmoil surrounding her death. My mother died in the most horrible way; she died in an accident.
It was a hit-and-run on a dark Friday, October 3rd, 2008. My mother, heavily pregnant and nearing her delivery date, had gone to buy market wares at Nkpor Main Market in Onitsha. She was a trader who sold foodstuffs in Afor Ukpor, our local market. She had also intended to pick up some baby items on her way back.
I only know the rest of the story as it was told to us. She was hit by a driver, drunk and reckless with blood on his hands, as he had taken other lives that same day with his vehicle. My mother was left lying in a pool of her own blood, unattended, as bystanders went about their activities. Nobody dared touch her for fear of being roped into the cause of her death. So, as the minutes ticked by, my mother slowly fought for her life and that of her unborn baby.
I learnt she died in NAUTH. The health professionals wouldn’t treat her without a police report. And as the hours passed, the noise in her head began to quieten, until it stilled.
My mother was the best woman. She was my world. She embodied everything good in the world, and the day she died, something inside me died as well.
My mother was Uzoyibo Clara Okolie, née Egwuchukwu, and I loved her with every fibre of my being. I remember her with every bone in my body and with every breath I take; she is in my thoughts every second of the day.
It is said that ‘grief is love with no place to go,’ and I agree.
Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.
― Jamie Anderson
The following are some of my journal entries that capture the pain I feel for my mother. I have typed them here as I wrote them in my diary.
I grieve
I grieve.
My heart is unsettled
it’s filled with a deep longing.
My head is a mess.
My body feels empty.
I can’t feel my legs,
but the tightening in my chest
tells me of a love that hurts so deeply.
I have experienced heartbreak.
No, I live with heartache.
The spot meant for my heart
is replaced with a deep longing for
the woman I can never have again
in this lifetime.
The worst pain
The worst kind of pain is not physical,
like having a toothache or going through surgery.
The pain from breaking bones can be cured
but not the heartache that comes from remembering.
I remember the passing of a loved one
Sixteen years now, and my soul still shatters at the thought
that I may never see my mother again.
It’s said that time heals all scars
but not mine.
My scar is buried deep inside my heart,
hidden behind layers of calloused skin,
concealed beneath a thin casing of pain
which resurfaces when I need my anchor.
My mother was my anchor.
With her gone, I am but a lost child.
Forgetting
I wonder why I haven’t died of heartbreak.
Dying feels like the cure for this pain,
but I don’t want to forget
because forgetting means erasing the memories of my mother
who she was when she lived.
As though she were never here;
as though she never happened,
no, I don’t want to forget,
yet I wish she were here.
Once, I asked my mother,
‘Mummy, why didn’t you get yourself some clothes too?’
She had just returned from the market
with clothes she bought for us.
‘You are my priority,’ said my mother.
She had only two wrappers then.
Uzoma, Ijeoma.
My mother
whose priority was her children
toiled and worked under the sun
to make ends meet for her family.
How could I forget the woman
whose first words were prayers
and kindness for her children?
She scolded and loved in the same breath
worried and toiled in the next.
My mother took on many responsibilities.
I have never met a person like her.
She was the backbone of her family
and she sacrificed a lot, oh, she did.
I am grateful that I knew her,
but so heart-wrenching was her death,
To the sibling whom I never met
you died with mother
before you could see the world you were coming into.
I hope there is sunshine where you are.
I hope you are both keeping each other company.
Some days, I envy that you are there with her,
for I don’t think I can love another
as I love our mother.
I am sorry that I am only writing to you
Sixteen years after your passing.
There’s no excuse,
but please, keep warm
until my next letter.
I love you.
The winged time traveller 