"Hello Kemi, how have you been and your academics?" My dad asked immediately I answered his call. Speaking to my dad daily was one habit we could not let go of, and for as long as I could remember, we have continued this routine, especially when I am out of the house and in school, just like now. Occasionally, when I get really busy at school, I do miss his calls, but we certainly made up for the missed conversation the following day. This was one of those days that we had missed each other's voice the previous day, and like the daddy's big baby that I am, I was excited to hear his voice. We enjoyed talking in the evenings when I was expected to be done with my lectures for the day and he would be out in the garden, enjoying the breeze of the evening. My dad's voice was unusual this evening; I knew when something was amiss, and I was convinced this was one of such days.
"I am fine, dad. What about you? Your voice sounds off; is something the matter?" I asked anxiously, my heart seeming to pick up momentum, dreading any news other than good.
"We are all fine now." He replied. At this point, I knew something was wrong, and my heart began to pound faster and harder against my chest cavity. "Your mom slumped and was rushed to the hospital; she's awake now and has requested your presence." He continued. My heart felt as though it were pierced by a sword. My mom and I had not been the best of friends in the family. It was a general belief that mothers and their lastborn children were inseparable, but mine was the opposite. My mom had shown less concern for me, negating all the praise my elder siblings sang about how our mother loved and cared for them selflessly. She seemed more interested in the fashion business she ran than spending time with me. If not for the striking resemblance I shared with my mom, I could have believed if anyone told me she was not my biological mother.
I was the fifth and lastborn child of my parents and the second daughter of the family. My dad, being a cleric, had constantly emphasized the need for unconditional love in the family, yet that seemed like a fairy tale, impossible to practice between my mother and me. Many times I tried to reach out to her to share things, but I felt she was in a better position to avail herself. She was quick to pass the ball to my older sister, Ayomide, who thankfully welcomed me with open arms and gave excuses for our mother. Ayomide is the second-born child and my second mommy, as I fondly called her, even though she is married with two little ones. My older siblings, Samuel, David, and Paul, had settled in their various homes, owning families of their own, leaving me as the unmarried one to take care of the house and our parents.
"She never approved of me, father; why then is she asking for me? I asked after a pause. I felt sorry for my mom, yet the pain of neglect for many years stood as a barrier between us. She had made an outburst of her mind on one of the occasions we had our usual altercations and disclosed how my conception was unplanned and my birth had equally caused her a caesarian scar after successful vaginal deliveries of my older siblings. I had experienced her displeasure while growing up, making me wonder if the innocent me had intentionally hurt her during the times she said
"Just come home and check on her, my big baby." My dad pleaded. He knew that calling me his big baby was one way to get through to me, and he definitely succeeded.
"I'll come home by the weekend, dad." I replied. We talked briefly about school and other things we had repeatedly talked about in the past before hanging up. My mind was unsettled and dashed with visions of my mom on the hospital bed. I usually go home once a month and was not due for another two weeks, but with this development, I had to make it to my parents house by the weekend, which was three days away. Traveling to Osogbo from Ilorin was a 2-hour' journey by road, and I usually left in the early hours of Saturday morning to enjoy quality time with my parents before returning to school by Sunday evening.
My troubled heart, however, would not let me rest despite my daily phone conversations with my dad the following days, and by Friday evening, after the day's lectures, I picked up my routine weekend clothes and headed to the park as I could no longer wait till Saturday before seeing my mother. I was scared as much as I missed her in my life.
Though I didn't tell my dad I would be coming home a day earlier than he expected me, I could see a mix of surprise, gratitude, and exhaustion on his face when I opened the door to the ward my mom was admitted to in the family's hospital. Seeing my mom lying on the hospital bed with a nasal cannula for oxygen support broke my heart into thousands of pieces that supplanted the spontaneous tears that freely rolled down my cheeks. Many scary thoughts haunted me as I stood there, transfixed in pain and fear. My dad sat by her left side and gestured to me to come closer. I dropped my travel bag by the entrance and walked slowly to her bedside, watching her breathe in and out with mild labor with her eyes shut. I squatted right beside her bed and held her right hand with my hands, only for me to notice she squeezed my hands gently. I looked up to her and noticed her eyes were opened, though pain could be seen written on her face as she forced a smile on her face.
"Thank you for coming, Kemi. I wronged you, and I have prayed to see you even one more time." My mother said this amidst breaks in her weak voice. I knew she had a lot to say, but at this moment, all I desired most was to see her back on her feet, hale and hearty.
"It's fine, mom; I have never stopped loving you, even when I found it hard to show. I want you to fight with all you have and come back to us."I replied. I was glad to see her broad smile after hearing my words. My dad was equally all smiles, seeing his wife and favorite daughter unite. I hugged her on the bed, feeling awkward, wondering when last I had come this close to her, especially to give her a hug.
We spent a few more weeks at the hospital, which necessitated my frequent traveling home as I needed to shuffle between lectures and taking care of my sick mom. My older siblings traveled down but could not dedicate as much time as they would due to their work and family. I was glad my mom fought for her life by being optimistic, and her response to treatment was impressive. She was eventually discharged for subsequent follow-ups, and beyond my frequent and unsolicited visit to the house from school, I made sure I spoke to both mom and dad every day afterwards.