A Word To Those Who Have Lost Mothers

I had met her once, which was at my birth. Last night I met her again. In the brief period of meeting her, I discovered why she had died, why she had taken her life in both hands and given it to me. Here’s her story.

She did grieve for days. The tears fell easily and her night pillows were their shelter. No one knew why she wept ceaselessly. Everyone simply assumed she wept from the regret of the decision she had taken. The decision to have a child. Only yesterday, I got to know better.

Before her marriage, she’d been diagnosed of having an illness which would reduce her chances of surviving childbirth by 98 per cent. This caused her wariness at getting married, as she often pondered the vacuum nothing but a child could fill in the home. But, Father had loved her with a love surpassing all else, and would stop at nothing to get her to spend the rest of her life with him, even if it meant not having children. This he succeeded at doing. But not at a price.

After deciding they would go for the option of adopting children, she agreed to marry him. But that decision to adopt a child was not to last. She resolved that if she could risk getting married, then she could risk having her own child, somewhat in hope that the averred two per cent chance of survival would come to her rescue. “Besides love warranted sacrifice,” she thought; which meant she could afford to take the risk for love of a child’s sake. Father then wasn’t into this idea. But it seemed so simple to her at the time; and who was Samson to deny his Delilah? Only this time, Samson was married to Delilah, and and someone else was to rest.

Fast forward 9 months, and she was close to having two children. In her were a boy and girl. She had broken down in tears when she found out, and from then on, the tears never ceased. Many thought news of the twin compounded her regret of having decided to have a child. If she regretted that much, I expect she could have called a halt to the pregnancy; but she chose not to.

No one, but herself and her husband, my father, who told me all this last night, knew why she wept. A certain night as they lay in bed, she had let her heart out to him. Initially, she wept for joy of knowing she was soon to be the mother of a twin boy and girl. Afterwards, her tears did reflect joy and pain. Pain because her hope of surviving childbirth faded in the face of what she believed: that she would not live to see them live. Father continuously assured her she’d live. But himself doubted his words… and this she knew.

Mother was delivered of her babies and the first set of hands that touched us after the doctor’s were Father’s. Our first cries were greeted by a tearful silence, for Mother had unsurprisingly developed complications in childbirth and couldn’t live through it. I wonder at how strong Father must have been to have withstood both extreme feelings of joy and pain at once. I think it took such a toll on him which is still evident today. Because now, he loves children (both his and others) on end and has yet refused remarrying does not look set to in the future. Mfon, my sister was born first and safe. I followed and was almost lost in birth.

I find none to blame for her death. None but LOVE.

Now that I know why she died, I’ve chosen to live full for her sake.

…You haven’t really lived if you haven’t comprehended what the world’s Redeemer did.

Please take a quick look at Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians. The Fifth Chapter. The 14th and 15th verses.

Image courtesy psychologytoday.com


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