A Tribute To My Late Mum: Lydia Adie Ogbodo
By Mark A. C. Ogbodo
Oh! My lovely and beautiful mother.
The first woman I came in contact with.
The first woman that smiled at me and blessed me.
The first woman that cared for and showed me love.
Oh! Sweet mother.
Oh! Lovely mother.
I remember your gorgeous smile,
Your tender loving care,
Your carefully selected and prepared delicacies,
Your enduring ability,
And above all, your overwhelming motherly care.
Indeed, you were a woman of substance and honour.
A mother whose character was worthy of emulation;
A home manager.
I can remember that cold winter night when I woke up in the middle of the night and penned down my rewards for you when I become a grown up man. I wrote thus:
'Sweet mother! I will make you the envy of all mothers; you will be called 'mamma doctor'; I will bring before you my missing rib and say 'mum, this is my missing rib, I have found it'; you will be treated like a Queen mother...' all these and many more I wrote down.
Moody, I was, unusually paying less attention in class, and it was four days left to the commencement of my 1st terminal exams in JSS 2. Little did I know that the unexpected had happened. Demise had extended her tentacles to my territory. It all happened on that windy and sunny day, 1st December, 1999.
Mum, the news of your demise got to me unexpectedly and left me speechless, in a shocking state and unbelievable. But on getting to your little village, Ikwokwu, I was left with no option than believing as
palm fronds were strategically positioned,
The plants swayed sorrowfully,
Guns were shot,
The birds sang sorrowfully,
Cries were heard,
And there was great mourning.
Elevated about 70cm above see level was a golden casket:
'mum! Mum! ! Mum! ! ! ... 'all the louder I called out, kneeling by the casket, but to no avail. Not even the word 'good-bye' came out of your mouth... rather, silently, you bade us 'farewell', leaving my dreams for you shattered, and us, MOTHERLESS.
Indeed, you had no option than answering God's call;
You couldn't substitute staying behind and caring for us, for God's bossom.
Your memories are immortal.
I wish there could be a second chance, if not for all, but for only you.
I miss and love you dearly.
Rest on in God's bossom, till me meet to part no more.
Adieu! Best mum
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem