I can't count how many times I have tried to write this post, but each time I end up staring into space. I must say that I am not prepared for this; I was never prepared for this.
photo credit: my mother 
I never knew I would lose my mother this soon. No one ever knows, right? It still feels like a dream to me... I really want to wake up from this dream...
I had traveled to Asaba, Delta State to visit my mother. My plan was to stay with her for about two weeks before returning to my base (I live in a different State with my family). Somehow, my stay was extended so that we could go shopping together for certain appliances she needed in her new apartment.
During my stay, we shared so many precious moments together, moments that have now become memories that I will treasure for the rest of my life. I never knew that those would be the last of such moments with her.
My mother, Lucy Uchenna Iwegbu (
Being the first among five siblings, so much responsibility fell on her as she had to assist her parents in caring for her younger ones. From fetching water to cooking, washing, going to the farm or market, she was more or less like the second mother in the family, suffering so much so that it would be easier for her younger ones.
Some of the things she told me shortly before she died were about her experience during the civil war. On one occasion, her mother sent her back to Enugu, to go and bring some of their belongings that had been left behind, while the mother stayed back in the village in order to take care of the younger children. God protected my mother as she took care of that assignment, and the day after she got back home they heard the news that Enugu had been taken by the enemy army.
At another time, she was sent to another town, far away from home, with items for sale. She followed pathways and trekked as there were no buses during the war. How long it took to go and come can only be imagined when we compare with how many hours it takes by bus. But what stood out again for my mother was how God delivered her from a bomb blast that would have taken her life on her way back, just a little farther than where she was standing at the time. Surely, her life was spared by God for a reason.
From a young age, my mother had to sacrifice her dreams for the benefits of her family. As the civil war was ending in 1970, my mother was happily looking forward to resuming in the secondary school where she had been given an admission earlier. Unfortunately, that was not to be, because her parents decided that marrying her off to one of the suitors that were asking for her hand in marriage at that time would be more beneficial to them considering the financial hardship they were experiencing as a result of the war.
The good thing about that marriage? My brother and I were born (we are not twins), and my Dad decided that my mother should go further in her education. He was ready to foot the bill, which he did until his own death which occurred when my mother was about to graduate in 1981.
But why did my mother decide to tell me these stories shortly before she passed? Did she already know that her time here on earth was almost up? I can't remember her opening up or being this vulnerable before this time.
A beautiful young widow in her twenties, my mother decided to dedicate her time and energy in taking care of us kids. Even as a child, I was aware that my mother's family wanted her to remarry, but she had made up her mind to sacrifice whatever benefit that would have come from that for the sake of her two children.
My mother was the kindest person I have ever known, always ready to help and sacrifice for the benefit of others. She was very creative and very industrious. She loved learning and never missed any opportunity to learn new skills or to improve existing skills many of which she eventually turned into money-making ventures.
From baking to cooking, bead-making, hat-making and sewing, my mother was an all-rounder. And she was a gifted teacher, for everyone that learnt any skill under her. Yet none of these could stop her love for computers which she more or less taught herself to use.
She selflessly stayed on at her parent's house despite our urging her to come stay with me or my brother. She stayed to take care of her aged father as her younger siblings had one thing or the other as 'valid' reasons why they themselves were not available for such a responsibility. She paused her business and other creative activities, including blogging on Hive which she had newly started, to be able to devote more attention to the care of her father. It was a demanding task, but she did everything without complaining. Oh, the grace with which she handled the pressures that rose with this task!
Since it was not easy for my mother to get away for even a short vacation, I and my brother decided to visit her in the village more often. This was how my frequent visits home started, and looking back now I am grateful to God for those visits.
When her father died two years ago, we thought it was finally time for my mother to rest and relax, as she had been extremely stressed out. So, I traveled home with the intention of bringing my mother back to stay with me, but she refused. She wanted to stay in Asaba, Delta State and start a new business. This meant more frequent travels for me, to help her relocate and settle down. I didn't mind, as I was also ready to do all that was in my power to comfort my mother and make her happy until she decides to come and visit us.
The clock was already ticking but I didn't know. As I arrived this last time, she was so happy. We went to the hospital for her regular checkup. The only complaint she had was about pain in her legs. She went for the laboratory tests recommended by her doctor, and the results came out negative. She was placed on medication for pain relief, but the pains kept going and coming.
My mother had always been a very brave and strong person. She hardly ever complained about anything, so seeing her in pain was strange and heartbreaking, especially the times when she came outside to take walks in the premises believing that her pain would go away.
Early on 4th March 2025, I saw how weak mummy was feeling and I decided to call the hospital to send an ambulance. She was sent to the Emergency Room and a couple of hours later, she was looking better than when we first came in. Blood samples and urine samples were taken to the lab for tests, while she was placed on infusions. Everything seemed to be okay, and I kept talking to her, assuring her that she would be okay, for that was what I thought judging from the test results and her vital readings. I didn't know that her time was far spent.
Suddenly, around 5pm the atmosphere changed. My mum drifted off to sleep, her breathing became laborious, and the doctors said she needed to be placed on oxygen and we gave them the go-ahead. By 6.22pm, her breathing ceased and every attempt to rescue her failed. And then the endocrinologist and her attending physician turned to me to tell me that which I didn't want to hear..."We are sorry," they said. "We did our best..." Unfortunately, their best wasn't enough. Yet, I can't blame anyone
Of course, I didn't believe them. I asked to be left alone with her. They granted my request, and I stayed alone praying that my mum should get up... We still had some unfinished discussions and projects, I still had questions to ask her... But she never stirred...
After about four hours, I decided to ask the hospital for their help to take my mother's body to the morgue. They gave every assistance I needed, comforting and encouraging me and providing the needed transportation, for the morgue was in a different hospital.
I was hit hard by my mother's death. I am still trying to come out of the pain and shock, but it hadn't been easy.
I have gone back to my home, but something is still missing. I miss calling my mother as early as 6.30am to chat with her before going to work and at 5.30 pm so I don't keep her from going to bed early. I miss all our coded conversations and laughter which can happen at any time in between those two times.
My mum in yellow, six months after her father's funeral.
All I have now are memories. Some make me smile, but most often my heart aches. Couldn't she have lived a little longer? We had plans for her 71st birthday on April 12th, but she left a month plus before the date arrived. I am tired of asking why. No one has the answer.
I feel tired, but I know that she would want me to be strong at this time. I and my brother are left with the task of planning and preparing for her funeral. Sometimes, I really don't know what to do... The tears are still flowing... I am finding it hard to continue my life as normal... Nothing will ever be the same again.
We are yet to decide on the funeral date. I just needed to pour out my heart here. I am finding it difficult to continue....
Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord....that they may rest from their labours...(Revelation 14:13 KJV).
Rest in peace, my dearest mother馃槶馃槶馃槶
All images are mine except otherwise stated.
