It’s been over a month since we laid my mom to rest, and even though I believed I could cope with life’s toughest blows, it’s as if this particular blow just wouldn’t go down my throat.
As I sit here writing, memories flood back to me — snapshots of the moment they were getting her ready for her final rest.
I remember crying so hard, shouting, “That’s my mom!” My friends held me, and even my dad, who’s usually tough, shed a tear.
If you knew who my mom was to me, you might shed a tear too and understand why it was such a sad moment, even though it’s only natural…
Who was my mom? She’s a shining example of someone who never found work hard when it came to her only daughter, me, Abisola! I was her world, and she made sure I knew it.
Our life wasn’t always perfect, but she made sure I was always comfortable, giving me the best she could. As I grew up, I felt the same way. We shared our days — laughing, crying, planning, building, dreaming — making every day special.
She wasn’t just my mom, she was my friend and a friend to my friends. She could make friends with anyone. She carried a joy and love that she shared with everyone around her.
One memory I’ll always keep is from when I came back from church, upset about something someone said. I told my mom, and we both ended up crying. We comforted each other, and in no time, the tears turned to smiles.
When I’m down, she’s down, and the other way around too. I remember another time when she was sad, and I comforted her. We knew we had each other, and that made us stronger.
I’ll forever sing her praises, you know. There’s always something special to share. Like the way she’d wake me from my sleep every morning, shaking off my laziness, being my personal alarm clock. And how she made sure I ate, no matter how late I returned from work. She wanted her baby girl to be just fine.
And then, oh, every single time I received a gift or some treat at work — I couldn’t wait to tell her all about it. Sharing my excitement with her, and then the friendly quarrels over who would get what from the treat.
I remember her prayers, a daily ritual — for me, for my safety. She’d wait patiently until I returned from work, and without fail, she’d call to make sure I got there alright. I recall my first day at my new job, mentioning that I might get calls in the morning because she needed to be sure I’d arrived safely.
There are so many moments I could talk about, but aside from the love of Christ, my mom showed me true love. I felt it deeply. She went the extra mile, and I guess that’s where I get my dedication to the things I love.
I just want you to know how much love she gave — now I get it when people say motherhood brings joy.
I don’t want to deviate too far, though. This is meant to be a tribute, a personal letter to my mom.
And now I’ve realized I have just ranted for the past few minutes which has made the article lengthy, a testament to the abundance of memories and emotions with her. There must be a continuation — Part 2, titled “A Personal Letter to My Mom.”
A Peek at What’s Next…
My Dearest Friend,
I hope you’re finding peace, for you truly deserve it.
When people call their mom an icon, I didn’t get it. I just knew I had something precious, but I didn’t realize its value until…
Sometimes, I wished you heard me more. You see…
I`m genuinely tired of the condolences but will listen if it will bring you back..
This personal letter is going to be intimate, and I hope you’ll come back to read it. Follow and subscribe so you won’t miss it. And if you’d like, leave a prayer for her in heaven.
Until then, in the spirit of peace, “Shalom.” Talk to you soon. 🤎