One year later, my note on grief.

I didn’t initially plan to write this, but as you read these words, it’s evident that I changed my mind and not only wrote but decided to post it.

When I discuss my mother in conversations or on social media, I’m not seeking sympathy or pity; My words come from a wellspring of love, personal growth, and happiness. While there may be occasional pain woven into the story, regardless, because let’s be honest, we’ve all faced our share of challenges, haven’t we?

When I reminisce about my mom and the longing I feel for her, it might seem like I’m constantly sad. But honestly, most of the time, that’s not the case. Yes, there’s an ache of missing her and all the moments we never got to experience together. However, there are moments when I want to cherish and relish the memories we created. Speaking about them is my way of keeping those beautiful moments alive; this is why you’re reading this.

A year ago, the only parent I knew and had left this world. It was so crazy because two weeks ago, she promised me she wouldn’t leave this earth, not now, not soon, “we still have so many plans, so where am I going? Even God won’t allow it,” Who will attend to you and have your time? Who will I leave you with?” She said, so I was comforted and assured; this is just for a moment, she’ll get better, things will get better, we will soon leave here( read hospital), I thought, but two weeks later, it all changed.

I’m not going to tell the sad story of how I went down to the hospital pharmacy to get an extra central lining pack, returned upstairs, and my older brother said something about how my mum stopped breathing; I’m not going to tell you how I screamed and shouted and legit behaved like a mad woman till they moved me to the reception, I remembered calling my immediate elder brother and saying “they said mummy isn’t breathing,” “they said” cause I wouldn’t believe them. Oh, brother, I don’t think I have ever spoken in tongues like that day or even prayed with so many tears, but we are not discussing that now.

When my mum transited, I cursed and blamed the Nigerian medical system. The medical practitioners, for their disregard and nonchalance, blamed me for not praying more, for not praying enough, and yelled at death as if it could hear me. I asked countless questions, but all my inquiries, uncertainties, and fears were met with silence. My heart was filled with anger and sorrow when I realized she was no more. I prayed that this wasn’t my reality, but this devastating reality was mine; as much as I loved my mother, it was not enough to keep her here, it wasn’t enough to make her stay here on earth, and as much as she loved me, it wasn’t enough to make her come back.

No explanation at that point could ease the pain I felt and still feel. Love became intertwined with grief. What once was is no longer.

This past year, it’s hit worse at night, in darkness, in silence, when the world is silent when it’s just me and my thoughts. Then it dawns on me. It’s more like reality hits deep. The anger may fade, but the longing for my mother’s presence never does.

At night, I keep thinking, If only I could return, I’d do things differently. I’d give her a tighter hug and never let go. I’d put my phone down and listen to her. I’d even miss a Chelsea match to be with her. There are so many things I wish I could change, like those little moments that when I think of, makes me sad. I often wish I could have talked more, laughed more, and made more great memories with her because it’s in those simple moments that life’s true beauty lies. The wisdom she had, the stories she told, and the love she gave — those are treasures I can only hold on to even now that she’s gone.

My mother was my rock, my support system, my gist partner, my best friend, my prayer partner, and my biggest cheerleader. No matter what life threw my way, I always knew that I could count on her to be there for me.

She taught me so much about strength, love, and kindness. My mother was the perfect example of when life gives you a lemon, you make lemonade.

Her unwavering support and unconditional love shaped me into who I am today. I was constantly in awe of her grace and resilience, always ready to learn, unlearn and relearn. Always asking me, “How did I do?” “Did I do this well?” “Are you comfortable with this?”

My fashion babe, the way we will spend Saturday evening, trying to match clothes to the correct jewelry for Sunday service and never forgetting her tambourine, the way she’ll randomly call me “Ada Obodoyibo” if she wants to hype me.

My mother, my fantastic role model, always puts others before herself. So selfless and generous.

It’s one year today, and I hope to make her proud and be half the person she was.

I love and miss her more than words can express, and the pain of her loss still feels as fresh as the day she was gone. They said grief gets better with time; it doesn’t,you just learn to live with it but amid my grief, I find comfort in the memories I shared with her and the love that she gave me.

Her kindness, her wisdom, and her selflessness will always be a source of inspiration for me. She taught me to be strong and never to give up, and for that, I will always be grateful.

Indeed, her body will forever be gone, but I know she is always here with me in my dreams, through the voices of others, and even in how I look. I keep finding my mother in parts of me I never knew existed. When people ask me if I am okay, I promise to think about everything I’ve learned from my mom and say: “Maybe not now, but I will be.” I’ll certainly be okay. I’m Hope’s Daughter, Ada Ifeoma Anaka; I have no option but to be okay.

This writing is for everything my mother was and all the potential she held.

I’m also grateful for the time she spent here, and for the moments we shared.

It’s been a whole year since she took her last breath. Today, tears flow, but within them, there’s also gratitude. It’s gratitude intertwined with memories, and it’s a beautiful mix.

And to my Ifeoma, I miss you so much and I love you forever and always.

You’re always there in my heart, thoughts, and memory.

It’s never goodbye but see you soon.