I can still clearly recall the day my mother passed away. I was only six years old, and the night was chilly. Kabiru, my brother, was crying in the room next to mine when I woke up. Despite the fact that I had no idea what was going on, I felt something wasn’t right.
My mother was on the floor when I went to see what was going on. She appeared lifeless and pallid. I can still picture how uncertain and afraid I was. I couldn’t make sense of what was happening.
From that point forward, everything was altered. After our father passed away, my mother had been our only source of solace; now she was also dead. I felt lost and abandoned by the outside world.
Despite his best efforts, my brother found it difficult to care for me because he was also grieving a loss. I weakened more and more as the days passed. I lacked the strength to even smile or play. I just sobbed while lying in bed, awaiting the pain to stop.
It’s difficult to put into words how it feels to lose a parent at such a young age. It seems like a piece of you is missing, as if you are always unfinished. Years later, I’m still coping with the pain of that loss. However, it was nearly intolerable in the beginning.
LAST PICTURE OF MY MOM
My rock throughout it all was Kabiru. He fed me when I was hungry, he comforted me when I cried, and he never once let me feel lonely. He was my protector, my everything, my hero. I can now see that his love and encouragement were the things that kept me going in the past.
I am unsure of my situation without him. However, all I knew during those difficult times following my mother’s passing was that I had him, and that was sufficient.