Hon Olushola Oladoja Reminisces, Pens Glowing Tribute to Late Mother

A TRIBUTE TO MY BELOVED MOTHER WHO HAS GONE TO BE WITH THE LORD

Ma’ami,

I have tried several times to find the right words to describe what you meant to me, but I have come to realise that no words will ever be enough. It’s now been 8 full days without you, Mum. I have written, deleted, and rewritten many sentences, paragraphs, and words in this tribute because I was hoping to find the best expressions to describe my feelings and our connection.

How do I write a tribute to the woman whose life was so deeply intertwined with mine? How do I write a tribute to a woman who literally gave me life and stood by and with me through the toughest moments of my life? How do I say goodbye to the woman who loved me through seasons when I did not even understand the depth of her love? There are so many “hows” that I have yet to fully ideate or put together to show my expressions because I wonder if I would ever get convincing answers. I mean, just how?

Even now, I am struggling to come to terms with the reality that you are no longer here. A part of me still expects to hear your voice, receive your call, listen to your counsel, or simply know that somewhere in this world, my mother is praying for me, perhaps, that is why your passing still feels unreal. I know what has happened, but my heart is yet to fully understand that “my golden Mum is no more”.

When I think about your life and my journey, one of the first things that comes to mind is the tremendous suffering you endured for me, particularly during my formative years.

I remember those years when I was constantly falling ill, as a child. There were times when sickness became a familiar visitor in my life, and you became my constant companion in hospitals and at home: while I slept, you stayed awake. While I received treatment, you watched. While doctors attended to me, you remained by my side, often through the night, just to be sure that I was alright. While prayers were made for me, you prayed and exercised faith even more than the recipient of the prayer, often crying uncontrollably as if my wholeness depended on the volume of tears that you shed.

You endured anxiety, fear, and exhaustion simply because you were my mother. You could not close your eyes and rest when your child was unwell. Your comfort was never more important than mine. In exercising this sacrifice, you showed that your sleep and wellbeing could wait until I was back to full health. Everything could wait until you were certain that I was okay.

Ma’ami, I did not fully understand the magnitude of those sacrifices then, but today, I do. And if I could have one more conversation with you, I would look into your eyes and say, “thank you, Mummy”.

Thank you for every night you stayed awake because of me. Thank you for every prayer you whispered during my formative years. Thank you for every tear you shed. Thank you for every time fear gripped your heart but you remained strong for me. Thank you for not giving up on me because you recognised the destiny that I carried.

But my story with you was not only about the times when I was physically ill. There were also seasons when I made you suffer in ways that had nothing to do with sickness. During my early university years were particularly difficult, and you bore the brunt of it without giving up.

I became stubborn and distant. I made choices and embraced behaviours that were contrary to the values you and Dad had worked so hard to instil in us, embarrassing you and the family. Some of the things I did were questionable and undermined the family culture and Christian values with which I had been raised. There were times when I would leave home and disappear for months without keeping in touch with anyone. I can only imagine what those periods did to your heart as a mother.

You did not know where I was. You did not always know how I was doing. You could not always reach me. Yet, despite the pain, despair, anxiety and disappointment that I caused you, you never gave up on me, Mum. You cried, worried, and prayed because of me. And somehow, beneath all the pain and disappointment, you continued to believe in me, that one day, I would become a vessel through which world systems would change for the better.

You believed that one day, God would touch my heart. You believed that the child you raised would eventually find his way back to the values and faith you had taught him. You believed that there was still something good in me, even when my actions made it difficult for others to see it.

Mummy, I am sorry for these moments that I caused you this pain.

I am sorry for the times I made you cry and the sleepless nights I caused you when I was no longer a child but still behaved in ways that made you worry about me.

I am sorry for the times my choices broke your heart.

I am sorry for the months I stayed away without checking on you.

I am sorry for the disappointment, fear and uncertainty I brought into your life.

Looking back in retrospect, I wish that I could take away the hurts and pains that I caused you. If I could turn back the hands of time, there are so many things I would do differently. But I am grateful that even when I was difficult to love, you chose to love me anyway. Even when I wandered away, you kept waiting, praying, and trusting that, like the prodigal son, I would work back home one day. You kept believing that God had a purpose for my life and I would fulfill it. And perhaps, that is one of the greatest gifts you ever gave me: you refused to give up on me.

From the time I was conceived, you carried stories of prophecies and divine revelations concerning me. You would tell me about the things you had been told and the things you believed God had shown you concerning my life. You spoke repeatedly about visions your Pastor had concerning me, and with time, some of those things came to pass in ways that left us both amazed.

Then there were your dreams: so many dreams. You would call me, sit me down, and tell me what you had seen concerning me. Sometimes, you would give me very specific instructions based on those dreams. At times, I did not understand why you were insisting that I do certain things. Sometimes I probably thought you were being overly cautious, but I obeyed. And on several occasions, I would later realise that those instructions had protected me from dangers I could not have foreseen.

Looking back now, I realise that you were not simply being a mother who worried about her child. You were my guardian angel, watching over me with the faith and conviction of a woman who believed that God had entrusted something significant to her concerning my life.

You prayed over me.

You warned me.

You guided me.

You stood in the gap for me.

And even when I did not appreciate it fully, you never stopped.

Ma’ami, I better understand that some of the greatest battles you fought for me were battles I never even knew existed.

I understand now that some of the dangers I escaped were perhaps dangers you had already encountered and gotten victory over in the place of prayer.

I understand now that some of the doors through which I safely walked may have been opened by the prayers of a mother who refused to stop calling her son’s name before God.

You were my mother of inesteemable value, but you were also one of my greatest intercessors, and I will forever be grateful.

Today, as I look back at my life, I see a woman who did not merely give birth to me. I see one who helped shape, endured, and corrected me. She prayed me through difficult seasons, believed in me when I struggled to believe in myself, and remained present, even when I made it difficult for her to remain close. Whatever good you see in me today, Mummy, please know that you contributed to it. Your prayers, sacrifices, tears, instructions, faith in God, and refusal to give up on me contributed to it. I am consoled that, in your lifetime, you witnessed my success and fulfilment of some of God’s prophecies over my life, including a change of life for the better. While I give God the thanks for these results, I am grateful for your outstanding support in ensuring that this ‘new me’ came to light.

I love you, Ma’ami.

I love you more deeply than I have perhaps ever been able to express. I love you beyond what words can measure, and I wish I had said it more often while you were here. The painful part is that I still cannot fully accept that I will no longer see you. I cannot yet imagine this life without the knowledge that you are somewhere, praying for me, thinking about me, worrying about me, or waiting to hear from me.

I know you have gone to rest, but a part of me still wants to ask, “Ma’ami, who will pray for me now? Who will see vision for me now? And who will dream for me now?”

And yet, I choose to believe that your love has not ended. I choose to believe that the prayers you prayed for me while you were here will continue to speak. I choose to believe that the God you trusted, the God you called upon through all those years, will continue to watch over me and my siblings. Also, somehow, I hope that you will not leave us entirely now that you have gone to rest in a better place. I hope that, in the presence of God, you will continue to remember us. I hope that the love that connected us on earth will somehow remain a bond that death cannot destroy. During your final moments on earth, Dad revealed that you called him to rob your back, and during the exercise, you began mentioning the names of all your children and prayed for us all. You sang praises and worshipped God Almighty before you suddenly became silent.

When I think of you from this day forward, I will try not to remember only the pain of losing you. I will remember the woman who stayed awake beside a sick child. The mother who cried when her son wandered. The woman who, even on her dying bed, kept praying when everyone else might have given up. The mother who believed that God had a purpose for her son. The woman whose dreams, warnings and prayers became a source of protection and direction.

You loved me when I was difficult to love.
You believed in me when I gave you reasons to worry.
You prayed for me when I could not pray for myself.
And you never gave up on me. For all of these selflessness, Ma’ami, I will remain eternally grateful.

I wish I had more time.

I wish I could hear your voice one more time.

I wish I could sit beside you and say all these things while you were still here to hear them.

But since I cannot, I will carry them in my heart for the rest of my life.

Thank you for being my mother.
Thank you for fighting for me.
Thank you for praying for me.
Thank you for believing in me.
Thank you for loving me.

I love you, Iya Kemi.

I will miss you more than words can ever say.

Rest now, Ma’ami.

You have fought your battles.

You have given your love.

You have endured your share of pain.

You have prayed your prayers.

You have done your part.

And you have kept the faith.

May the Almighty God, whom you served and trusted throughout your life, grant you eternal rest. May He receive your soul with mercy, and grant you a place among the saints in His eternal kingdom, until we meet again on the resurrection morning.

Your loving son,

Comrade Olushola Oladoja