17th May, 2023 - My darkest hours

One year after her passing, nothing has changed, I still feel pains and, I still have a lot of unanswered questions but, Valar Morghulis - All men must die. (Photo credit: Ramsey's iPhone)

Yea, it's been one year already, and nothing has changed. I still feel as much pain as I did exactly one year ago, when the darkest of clouds usurped me. When the earth received my mother's body, it still hurts.

I’ve tried many times to do this, but it is what it is. What a year it has been. There was no inkling before it happened, so there is no benchmark. However, it’s a different kind of pain, one I don’t wish on anyone. The 17th of May 2023 will forever remain where it is; hopefully, it remains the darkest ever until my dying day.

The mood was obvious; Deepsea could tell in the car. Joy sent me a text message to lift my spirits, but calls from Ibadan informed me that my mom was on her way to the hospital. It didn’t take long for me to realize it wasn’t her usual attention-seeking drama. I didn’t expect the worst, but I knew the cloud wasn’t clear.

It was a day before the 2023 AMVCA; I was preparing to check into the hotel with the boys ahead of the masterpiece we were cooking. The atmosphere at work that day was like that of a construction site. Moji Coker and Folachi with their trucks (giant suitcases) caught the eye, but not for long.

I had a ZAGG document to churn out, Folahan had something to tidy on Colgate, and Sandra texted at around 11 a.m. to ask why I was moody; my head was in Ibadan throughout those shattering hours. When my baby sister called to say they needed to place Mom under oxygen, it went from bad to worse.

At about 1 p.m., Pastor called to tell me my mother had passed. I froze for a minute before I held Tosin’s hand. She was in the heat of the AMVCA preparation. She glanced at me to hear what I had to say. She slumped to the chair as I mumbled the words, My mother is dead.

The next few minutes will go down in history as my weakest ever. Trust Riquesans to rally one of their own. The boys didn’t have words; Deepsea sat on the table and couldn’t say a word. Bishop sat on the snooker table, Vichi yelled at a poor supervisor, and Olumide closed his laptop.

As I tore down in torrents of tears, Moji assumed the role of chief comfort officer; it was clear she was in pain for me. Sandra placed her hands on my shoulders. She gave her most difficult speech ever, trying her best to pitch the situation to me as God’s will. She prayed.

Flashes didn’t stop coming; maybe age played a part. For a moment, I lost faith completely and couldn’t even say amen. I knew it meant I’d never see Victoria again, and I knew it meant she wouldn’t rain words on me as she always agitated about getting married. It was a harsh reality.

I thought about my siblings; at least I’d get the opportunity to pay my last respect to our mother and lay her down to rest. How will they do it from the UK? I felt for them even more. My colleagues ushered me into the car and waved me off. That was the end of my 2023 AMVCA.

As I journeyed to Ibadan, in between picking painful calls and crying my eyes out, trying to respond to messages, and trying to form strength, especially for my younger siblings, I opened my chat with my mom. I saw a voice note she had sent a day before she passed. I’ll keep the piece forever.

It took every ounce of my strength not to go see her body immediately; it was unbearable when I finally did the following morning. How did she go from being a bubbly drama queen to a lifeless body on the porch?

The darkest of hours soon came, and I had to commit her body to Mother Earth. Throwing sand on her casket in the hollow grave, realizing I wouldn't see her call ever again, I looked to the skies and felt what God felt when He nailed His Son to the cross—a difficult feat for anyone.

One year later, I still feel the same way. As I stare at her tombstone today, reading the epitaph written by my big brother, all I can say is thank you to Victoria. With a glance at her husband right beside her, wreaths and flowers are just symbols, but will these tears ever dry up?