Precious Ossai @masterp

My name is PRECIOUS IFEAKACHUKWU OSSAI, I'm from ukwuani local government area delta state Nigeria, this is my story.
It was a Thursday evening, March 23, 2023, a day that will remain in my heart forever. That was the day I lost my mother. I still find it hard to believe, even as I write this. I still wonder how it all happened so fast, like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

Everything started on a Saturday evening, March 18, 2023, just after my mum came back from the governorship election. She wasn’t feeling well, but none of us thought it was anything serious. She was a strong woman, the type that never complained. She would always say, “God will take care of everything.” That was her faith; she trusted God in all things. That night, however, something in me felt different, but I just pushed it aside, hoping by the next day, everything would be fine.

By Sunday morning, her health got worse. She couldn’t get out of bed, and we all became worried. My siblings and I gathered around her, hoping she would pull through like she always did. She had been the one holding us together even when our father lived with us, She worked so hard for us, struggled to make sure we never lacked anything, and she never gave up no matter how difficult life became.

Losing my elder brother in October 2020 was the first blow that nearly tore our family apart. He was like the pillar beside my mother, helping her provide for us, guiding us when things were tough. When he died, it was like a piece of our hearts was taken. But Mama, with all her strength, still managed to carry on. She was the only one who cared for us, the only one who made sure we didn’t go astray.

As the days went by, Mama’s health didn’t improve. By Tuesday, we rushed her to the hospital. I remember the look in her eyes when I held her hand, trying to give her hope, trying to tell her everything would be okay. But deep inside, fear gripped my heart. I had never seen her so weak, so vulnerable.

The doctor said it was malaria and typhoid, a common illness in our area, but this time it was different. It was like her body was tired, tired from all the suffering, tired from all the battles she had fought for us.

By Thursday evening, things took a turn for the worse. I sat beside her bed, holding her hand, praying silently, begging God not to take her away from us. My siblings were outside the room, crying, not knowing what to do. The doctor came in, looked at her, and shook his head.

At that moment, I knew what was coming, but I couldn’t accept it. How could I? This was the woman who gave me life, who nurtured me, who sacrificed everything for us. She was the only one we had left. I started shouting, calling her name, begging her to wake up, but Mama was gone. Just like that, she was gone.

The pain that hit me that night, I can’t even describe it. It was like my world shattered into pieces. I couldn’t breathe; I couldn’t think. All I could see was her face, her smile, her laughter, and the way she would call my name when I did something wrong. All those memories came flooding back, and I realized that I would never see her again.

We buried her a few days later, and since then, nothing has been the same. The house feels empty, quiet. It’s hard to believe that someone who meant so much to me, to all of us, is no longer here.

Mama was more than just a mother. She was our protector, our guide, our everything. She suffered so much for us, raising six children on her own after my father died. She would go to the farm, sell things in the market, do any job she could find just to make sure we had food on our table. She was a warrior, a true example of strength.

Now that she’s gone, I feel lost. The world feels cold without her. But I hold on to the memories, the love she gave us, and the lessons she taught us. That’s all I have left now. That Thursday evening will forever be a scar in my heart, a day I will never forget.