Take your own advice

For so long, I have always been one whom people would come and share their problems with.

Most often, I advise them and encourage them with verses from the Bible. On some occasions, I use my life experiences. I have not experienced so much in life but I draw lesson from my seemingly short life on earth.

Of course, I don’t expect them to get over whatever pain or problem they may be facing the moment they listen to my advice. It will take time.

First, they need to see reason in my advice.

Then, they have to make a conscious effort to implement my advice.

They need to prepare their minds for the new journey ahead.

Did I know this when I was advising my friends?

I did. However, I didn’t think it was too difficult to do.

Today, I am in a position where I need to take my own advice. I realise how easy it is to give advice but difficult to implement an advice you have received.

When one of my mums said, “Nana, I know this is a painful loss. Do you remember when you used to encourage me with verses from the Bible? I will tell you to take refuge in the Lord. He is the only one who can strengthen and guide you.”

One of my grandmas advised me, “Nobody understands all the ways of God. Just know that He is with you and He has positioned you for this moment.”

My Budget Lady (Grandma) also said, “Take heart and trust the Lord who knows what we don’t know.”

If a friend suffers a loss, I have no doubt that I will tell him or her what I am hearing now.

So, why am I finding it difficult to pay heed to the advice?

I am the one who is experiencing all the pain.

I am the one who is looking for answers to questions I can never get answers to.

I am the one who is going to live with memories only I have.

I am the one who understands how deep my relationship with my mum was even though we had our differences.

I am the one who has lost my confidant.

I am the one who has lost my fighting partner.

When you came to visit me during the Easter break about a month ago, I was so happy. I remember it like it happened today.

The journey from Kumasi to Accra was very stressful but you came here just to know where your daughter is staying. You left Kumasi at midnight so you could get here early in the morning but due to sleep, the bus took you beyond Accra to a place you had no idea about. You woke up and realised you were lost. You found your way to me regardless of the fact that you didn’t know Accra so well, coupled with the heavy load of yam tubers you were bringing to me.

When you finally arrived, you only complained about your knees. I asked if you were taking your blood pressure medication. You responded, “Nana, I even went to the hospital to collect the drugs a week before coming here.” You told me about how difficult it was for you and my siblngs. Even after your long and different topics of conversations, you said, “Nana, we will smile soon. We won’t be like this forever.”

When you were returning to Kumasi, you had a very terrible journey. The bus you boarded was faulty so you had to stop on the way. You arrived home at 2am. You called me every single day upon your return home.

You encouraged me to keep being hopeful because things will get better. I called you any moment I felt lost and was losing hope.

You are the only person I would not think twice to call as early as 4:30am. You always picked up my calls no matter the time.

I was surprised you hadn’t called me for almost three days. When I woke up on Thursday, I felt strange. It was as though something was missing in my life. As usual, I called around 5am. Your phone was off. I called again and the phone was still off.

Why did you leave so soon, mum?

Did you forget that you said we’d smile soon?

We didn’t get the chance to smile together as you said.

We graduated high school together. I always laughed when I told people that you went for a short hair because you wanted to look like me. You were always late when it was time for visiting. However one thing was certain — even if it is left with only 10 minutes for visiting hours to end, you’d come. You never took visiting hours for granted. Your food was a sure banker.

When I was ready for my first braids after completing high school, you took me to your hair dresser. You came in intermittently to check how it was going. Even before we finished, you started giving me compliments.

You didn’t give me the opportunity to build you the house I promised you. I remember your response, “If you build a house for me and all of you leave me because I like talking, sadness will kill me.”

I changed my mind, mum. I was going to buy a house so all of us could stay there together. Kofi, Akwasi, Adwoa Broni and I were going to listen to your rants all day. Unfortunately, we won’t get that opportunity to be with you in the same house again.

Anytime I wanted to put on head gear, you offered to do it for me because I am not good with it. You have a very comfortable way of putting it on me so I look my best.

I still remember the prayer you always make for me concerning marriage. You say, “Lord, please take my daughter away from men who would make her regret ever embarking on this marital journey. God, grant her the spirit of discernment to make the right choice. Don’t let her make the same mistakes I did.”

Mum, you couldn’t wait for me to be Professor Angela Ankoma. You only saw me graduate with a Bachelor’s degree. I remember how happy you were on my graduation day when you said, “My daughter is also a university graduate. Ama Achiaa has a first class university graduate. Nana, this is just the beginning.”

Why did you leave when we just started the journey.

I am still in denial because you were strong the last time I saw you. You were full of life whenever we spoke. On Sunday morning, you even sent me videos on WhatsApp.

How could you not tell me you were hospitalised on Monday? I was just a call away.

Grandma told me the doctor took good care of you. Your blood pressure was stabilised before they left you on Wednesday.

What happened from Wednesday evening to Thursday dawn?

Was that strange feeling I felt on Wednesday and Thursday your way of telling me you were leaving?

Whenever I posted your picture or any of my friends saw you, their comments were, “Angie, your mum is very beautiful. She looks so young. Eeeii Angie, you are as beautiful as your mum. Angie, are you sure this woman is your mum? She looks so young.”

Anytime people asked of your age, you said, “I am 50 years.” I always wondered why you wanted to be on the fifth floor so early. On 26th June, you would have been 48 years. You were inching towards the 50 years you loved so much. You could have hanged in there for a while, Mum.

I wish I could go back to my days in Senior High School and the early days of my tertiary education where our relationship was estranged. Today, I regret the fact that I allowed pain and anger to rob me off the opportunity to share with you all the things that were on my mind.

One of the best decisions I have made in my life was coming to speak to you boldly about our relationship when I was in level 400. Thank you for listening to me that day. Thank you for helping me mend our broken relationship.

What hairstyle have I done that you haven’t also done?

Whoever styled your locs on Sunday did an amazing work.

When I told you I wanted to lock my hair, you were against it from the beginning. I had to convince you before you accepted it. On 7th October, 2023, you accompanied me to the salon. We both didn’t know the place. You were afraid I would get lost so you came along. You stayed with me throughout the process. You even engaged the loctician in a long conversation and advised him.

You told me you would want to lock your hair as well because I looked good with the locs. What made you conclude that if I look good in locs, you will also look good in locs? Well, you were right. Your locs are gorgeous.

I am glad I was able to share with you all my fears and aspirations in your last days.

As you look down upon us from heaven, Mum we need strength to accept the fact that you won’t be here for us.

Everyone is telling me to be strong for my siblings but I seem not to know how to do that.

My heart aches so much.

If you were here, I would have called you and cried about how afraid I am of the journey ahead. You would encourage me and pray for me before we end the call.

But the reality is that you are not here anymore.

I’ve been in denial from Thursday.

I can’t bring myself to accept that you are no more.

Yesterday was Mother’s Day. For the first time in my life, you were not here to receive my call.

Whenever I called to wish you “Happy Mother’s Day”, you ended up praying for me. I always thought to myself, “Should I not be the one praying for this woman? Why is she rather praying for me?”

Mum, you could have waited for a little longer.

Yesterday at church, I prayed to God to grant me peace of heart and mind to accept my new reality.

Ama Achiaa, you may not be here with me but I know you are deeply ingrained in my life. Thank you for nurturing me the way you did. God made me your daughter for a reason. Your life has become a blueprint of lessons for me. I have no excuse not to make you proud of all your sacrifices.

May God help me as I embark on this journey ahead of me. I’m now a mother of three and I strongly believe that God will take care of us.

Rest well, mum.

Rest well, Ama Achiaa.

Rest well, my fighting partner.