Teardrops: Stop What You Are Doing; “Go Take A Selfie Or Groupie With Mama & Papa, For Tomorrow We Shall Sing Song”.

The truth is there were two already typed #untalented contests ready to go; one involved “Sing-Song” and the other involved “Forgive” but since my mum lost life, I never got in the right mood to pull these off. 

The first #untalented contest of the #untalented curriculum started in the months leading up to my mama’s lose-life. 

I had heard of her illness and i wasn’t with her. I was in an enclosed room by myself and away from her.

I had heard of her two-weeks in a state of “can’t-walk-or-talk” and i was away from her and during this period is when the first #untalented contest happened, to also give me strength. 

Every entry then, unknown to these many wonderful enterers was giant to me. Each entry was a breather!

Several #untalented contests happened thereafter but i wasn’t able to pull “Sing-Song” off and was bringing up other contests in its stead. 

Then, there came a slight breakthrough moment, when i was told that my mum could walk and talk again and she was seen to be without cancer and she was back at home; and i was about to pop out the “sing-song” part of the untalented curriculum but then, my mum was growing weak again. 

Her subsequent blood-count tests showed her blood levels to be drastically dropping. She was very weak! “sing-song” had to hold again, for i couldn’t pull off just the right mood to pull “sing-song” off. 

I ended up doing Untalented-Mama!

I spoke to her during these times and she would hide it all. She would want to care about me instead. In reality, she didn’t want my sisters to tell me about her illness. She knew of my deep nature and of how heavily i take things and especially, since i was alone and away, she didn’t want me to hit my head on the wall. 

Where i am from, we tend to guard information especially “bad news” a bit too much, for fear not to harm the other party (borne out of intense love), that we end up doing more harm than good. Infact, this sole thing, has done much harm in my household, but we understand. Overall, really deep intense love has lots of hurt in it!

I had noticed though within our video-calls that she had aged so quickly. In the months leading up to these trauma-times, she had aged so fast but she didn’t have any hints that it had to do with illness or perhaps, she did but she hid her feelings from us out of love. 

I so so so respect her; women; womanhood; mothers; motherhood!

I had seen her wrinkles and been eaten up by them, just by virtue of the fact that she was aging alone. 

I did wonder though, why it was so fast. 

Little did we know that she had illness in her. And during these few calls, she wouldn’t want me to worry about her. However, i noticed changes. She was unusually worried about me; she became extremely caring in her tone and forgiving and she would cry too and her tone was all changing; “like she knew she was leaving”

She checked on me more. She wanted to love me more. 

I couldn’t read the signs enough. Instead i was doing calculations and hasting up as my mind kept replaying this: 

assuming life span is 70 or 80 and she is just past 60, i could encounter breakthrough this year and give her “first whispers of good news”, then cater to her and spoil her for 10 to 20 more years.

It ate me up that she was wrinkling up and that alone haunted me as i would wander into her brain and mind to wonder on her behalf, how she must feel anytime she looks in the mirror and is told that life’s getting shorter. 

She was still very self-conscious. Her dentition wasn’t perfect and she did want to fix her teeth, to feel good about her smile and all these was underway at least in my mind’s eye. These are simple things that shouldn’t be luxury. One mustn’t do time in the prison of hell-hole to get these things and this was the suffering she did all along (all the days of her life), but we wanted to adjust that. 

I am still young and i have three sisters and i am already haunted by the thought of losing them. The last time i was with them for 7 days; i would look at them and all i would see is “us” in old age, getting ready to lose each other. 

I do hope we all live till old age but beyond that i do hope that if lose-life is to ever come, we shouldn’t be robbed off entirely of our “shine”

Dignity” is now a heftily weightier word to me.

I tell you, where i am from “suffering” is not in; “i can’t eat”, “i can’t buy data”, “i can’t wear Gucci” etc. I smile at those things as solvable challenges in a man’s life. 

For sure, I will wear Gucci. I will even wear “Terry”

And i don’t have data? I will go use all my savings to buy one Gucci and use my last penny to print a proposal and go into a telecommunication company and tell them why i would love data and i will come out with 1 year subscription worth of data. 

My point? There is deeper intenser “suffering” in stolen/crushed or extremely-pummeled “dignity”.

Dubai happened and matters where adjusting! I do think those where my mum’s happiest moments just before she was told of her illness. It was June and from nothing, i was going to meet with my 3 sisters in Dubai after close to 5 years of not seeing them. It wasn’t planned but it happened. We did shopping and laughed a bit and talked of our parents and of our plans for them towards the end of 2017. My mum was to spend a holiday in Dubai, then visit Manila next. Then, next was my dad.

My mum wore the clothes we bought her and i am sure you know how much she loved them but what she loved the most was to see her children together again. Gosh, how she wanted pictures and more pictures (of us)

We started a whatsapp group during this time too, to be together. And my mum would get on steemit to feel some of my presence. My steemit effort still managed to make her a prouder mum still. She loved it

Gosh! You know my mum has always asked for my pictures forever. Gosh, she loved me like crazy. I didn’t know how much those pictures meant to her. From young, i never took pictures. I was the only one who never had pictures and even with my mum, i just had a few pictures. 

I was not a happy boy because from young i was too responsible, seeking change for my household that play-moments or selfies held no water. 

Gosh! My mum dug out an old VHS of us (a kids) and she was able to get a playable version of it to send to me:

Please take as many picture moments with parents and family!

I know i shed dem tears writing this but not much because i did heights of trauma, that my owed and unfell tears are coming out in pints now. It’s all good. 

Now, tears have even additional essence and never go to waste!

This post is written to inspire. In the very next post, we will be doing an #untalented contest called “sing-song”. 

Hahaha, an owed-contest.

I am about to enter and another bout of probable trauma-era but there will be so much loving involved. 

Currently, i have memory lapses when it comes to remembering good moments with my mama. All the moments that replay in my head are the last 16 days that we spent and oh, how i couldn’t love her just as much as i would want. 

We couldn’t prepare as we jumped from hospital to hospital hours after she arrived here, with hopes, faith and prayers and my lovely mum would constantly tell me that she won’t die. 

She was so caring even in her losing-life bed. In most hospitals, there is usually just a small-for-me side-bench to sleep on and she would be concerned all night in the midst of her tired sleep, to see if i am in comfort-state. 

Once, i was going to seek another hospital to handle her case and there was so much traffic etc and she kept calling me, wanting me to return and not stress and try another day. She would call & love & care!

On the day before her death, we were simply waiting to go to a new appointment in a new hospital (at around 6 am the next morning) with new-found hope and almost all night in her sub-conscious mind, she wasn’t sleeping because she had hope deep inside her and she kept asking the time to see if it was 6 am yet. 

So there was hope and positivity till the last moment, that there was no chance to say goodbye or prepare to say goodbye. 

There is something more that happened just before she died, that rose hope to new heights again but i will speak of it in another post. In truth, in the life i have done, i sometimes/many-times no longer like “hope“.

Next month, I am working on seeing the man I am a replica of; “Mr Ajayi”

He is a broken man and I carry his hefty dreams. In truth people who do my type of life break down. 

My dad went from glaucoma to dementia and dementia in the 5 years that I haven’t seen him and till date even in his farthest world away from memory, he still mentions me and his dreams etc 

My mum is the only one who can tame him, but now she isn’t here and though I did trauma higher than trauma, i am embarking on this new route to love my dad as much as i can. 

I would be looking to raise money in the next week, enough to bring him here next to me. I would rent a bigger house and i will live with him. My sister will bring him here and stay for one week. 

He is thinking that he is coming to meet with his ever-loving wife but she is no longer. I will be eaten up watching him suffer but i will keep praying that Jehovah heals his heart and perhaps, mine too.

He is in charge of this journey, so no worries. I will be here sharing testimonies that will further fix.

Currently, on the phone, he only wants to talk to his wife. Whenever he remembers that he has been told she that she lost-life, he bursts into wails and his wailing is the sound of 10 hefty men. 

He is strong character; a huge man; a huge being yet….

He loves her more than he loves himself and a major reason he broke down so drastically is:

He couldn’t give her skyscrapers.

He licks the plate of her cooking clean because he loves her too-too much. 

And will i keep tell him, she is no more here or will i keep tell him instead, that she hanging out with her brothers and sister and will soon be available? 

Either way is hefty deal of decision-making because i am almost always sincere. I love him too much. I have loved him too much. More recently, my mannerisms are those of my mum (related to her behavior before she passed) but before now, all my mannerisms were those of my dad

I carry his dreams and mine and i tell you; his dream and mine are aligned. Till date, everyone calls him same old name: “Baba Terry”.

The masses love him because he carried their dreams too. 

I carry his dreams and mine and that of nations and i break down but i am in a different generation. 

By Jehovah’s grace, there will be tons of breakthrough on this journey. 

Thank you very much my steemit family. Everything tiny thing you do on my behalf in this moment is timely, massive, gianormous and i look at it and it is “giant” and my gratitude is in my tiny prayers on your behalf. Thank you for all the deeply-rooted loving support. 

Don’t mind my grammar; “truth is way bigger things than proper grammar” @surpassinggoogle

Your Boy Terry


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I do need strength

Dedicating My Entire Steem/Steemit Journey To My Mum

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