The Passage

“And as it is appointed unto men once to die…” Hebrews 9:27

POV: I had the privilege of processing my mother’s passage for one whole month.

The journey began sometimes in January when I received a call from my mother informing me that she slipped while she was trying to sit on her bed. She was in the same city with my brothers and that was such a blessing as she never really had to wait before necessary attention was given to her.

I knew it was important to check on her and I made a promise to visit. She wasn’t sure I would fulfill the promise early enough and realized that her reminder wasn’t really necessary when I showed up at her door a few hours after her call.

I met her at her usual spot, the external living area where she could enjoy fresh breeze and ‘cover’ the events around the house. As usual, she opened a wrap of moinmoin as soon as I delivered the batch to her and I had to prevail on her to wash the apple before she could eat them. I knew what to expect- her heartfelt appreciation and prayers that followed every act of kindness towards her and I didn’t have to wait too long before they came in torrents.

I asked her how it has been and I was excited to watch her walk around the compound. ‘That’s the way to go, Mama’, I said as I encouraged her to intensify her regular walks, in addition to the physiotherapy treatments she was undergoing, to ensure that her joints remain flexible. I left early the 3^rd day to meet up with some exigencies of duty.

Mama’s call came a couple of weeks later, unlike before, I couldn’t feel the warmth in her voice and it was disheartening to hear, ‘Odunola, mi o ma le dide mo.’ (Odunola, I cannot get up by myself again.) How? When? What? So many questions as I struggled with the tears falling down my eyes. A thousand thoughts ran through my head in a minute and my request to every caller was, ‘Please pray for my mother.’ Did we pray? Sure, we did as her condition became a major concern and I rallied brethren around to plead for God’s mercy.  

We thought a visit to the hospital would help the situation but the improvement wasn’t that significant after a few days of admission and we needed to review the schedule of her personal physiotherapist. Several therapies after, my mother still needed assistance if she would rise or sit up, while her daily needs expanded to include items that used to be exclusive to her young grandchildren.

I visited again on February 14; it was a few days to her 91^st birthday and I had decided to spent some time with her to see how that could help to revive her mood. Those 3 days turned out to be the most difficult days I spent with my mother. I found it difficult to connect the woman lying helpless on her bed to my ever-bubbling mother and I struggled to encourage myself to remain strong on her behalf.

As I sat beside her bed and nudged her to take some food, I cannot but remember the independent, industrious Wuraola that moved from one location to another, juggling one trade with another, representing in one gathering or another, standing by her domestic assistants, even at 90, to ensure that they deliver on her mandate as indicated. My mother laid there all day, sipping only liquid and finding it difficult to keep her inner wishes and desire private. In the midst of her pain, she did not forget to ask about the preparations for her grandchildren’s marriages and gave her wishes that everything must go according to plans, no matter what happened to her. Abiyamo tooto!  (literally, ‘true mother’)

All my efforts to make her taste some real meal was rebuffed, even the smell of my fish pepper soup wasn’t strong enough to make her take a spoonful. I was helpless and sad that I couldn’t help her helplessness; nothing seemed to matter any longer and she wouldn’t be bothered about anything. February 16 came and we ensured that we registered the date with thanksgiving. It was mama’s 91^st but she wasn’t singing as usual. We stayed around her bed, sang and prayed. Then she asked again about the wedding plans and prayed that everything will go well to the glory of God, notwithstanding how her situation turned.

My journey back to Lagos that day was the longest ever, I held on to my phone expecting my mother’s usual check-ups when we are on journeys such as that. I travelled the length of Osogbo to Lagos and entered my room disappointed- there wasn’t a single call. It dawned on me at that instance that we are approaching a bend and like her neighbour advised, it was time to fasten our seat belt. Somehow, I began to feel some emptiness, and my daily thoughts were centered on my mother, in the midst of running around to prepare for a wedding.

Mama called on March 10 to congratulate me on the success of her grandson’s wedding and asked when my younger sibling was coming back. I reassured her that Molara was already on her way back to Osogbo and the account of all that happened after she delivered my message to Mama indicated clearly that she merely held on to ensure that the wedding plans became fulfilled.

Her situation became critical a few minutes afterwards, and she had to be rushed to the hospital again. She came around, was discharged the next day and stayed a few more days till the early hours of March 18, however, it was obvious to all that the passage started right after March 9. The news was broadcast abroad- Deborah Wuraola Esuu Akere has taken a bow after 91 years. From February 16, 1933 to March 18, 2024, she lived a life of impact, touching lives and making marks.     

“And as it is appointed unto men once to die…” Hebrews 9:27

Mama, to say that we miss you is an understatement; we thank God for the legacy that you left behind and we trust Him to empower us to run our race and finish strong to His glory. Goodnight Sweet Mother.