Exactly 16 years ago today, January 23rd, 2009, I remember where I was vividly. I was conducting a training program in Ikeja on Child Safeguarding and Protection for a group of school leaders. At the time, my mom was in the hospital at LUTH (Lagos University Teaching Hospital), and I had instructed my colleague, who was providing administrative support, to call my attention immediately if there was a call on my phone.

In the middle of the training, my phone was brought to me, it was my immediate younger sister on the line. Her voice carried the weight of the news: our mom, who had been bedridden for five years after suffering a stroke, had passed on at the age of 67.

In that moment, I announced the news to my participants, who graciously released me. Yet, something in me felt the need to finish what I had started. I completed the training, though my heart was heavy. As soon as I could, I called my wife, who immediately left work, drove down to the training venue, and together, we headed straight to LUTH.

The reality of her passing hit me when I saw her lifeless body, now deposited in the morgue. It felt like a dream painful, surreal moment.

I’ve shared a lot about my mom in my book, The Burden and the Wisdom of Parenting: From an Erased Childhood to a Transformed Adulthood. I dedicated Chapter 2 to her, recounting the many things she taught me, the love she showed in the best way she could, and her resilience as a small businesswoman.

My mom gave all she had to her children despite her own limitations, shaped by the way she was raised. She did her best within the circumstances she faced, and I hold no bitterness toward her or my dad. My faith has helped me understand the precarious situations they navigated while trying to raise us. I’ve never had to “forgive” them because I see their humanity and the challenges they faced.

My mom taught me so much, even in the midst of her imperfections. Her meticulousness in accounting, her ability to build partnerships despite setbacks, like the time she was defrauded by a close family member, were life lessons that have stayed with me. Instead of pursuing remedies through bitterness or revenge, she left the matter to God, trusting in His justice.

I also remember her prayers. Each time I visited home, especially after I relocated to Lagos to live with her immediate elder brother, Chief Gani Fawehinmi, who generously took responsibility for my education after secondary school, she would pray fervently for me. Despite the fact that we had plenty to eat at my uncle’s house, she would always pack my bag with gari and smoked catfish to take with me. If I was reluctant to accept it, she would gently insist, saying she just wanted me to have something to snack on. Her love and faithfulness shone through, even in the smallest gestures.

She passed away in a medical system that, sadly, failed her, a system plagued by negligence and inefficiencies that persist in Nigeria today. I’ve shared my experiences at LUTH in my writings, highlighting the systemic issues that contributed to her passing.

Yet, amidst all this, her journey of faith is a beacon of hope to me. While bedridden, she accepted Jesus Christ as her Lord and Savior. I recall how, despite being in a wheelchair, she attended my wedding and prayed earnestly for me.

While death is inevitable, we, her children, often wish she had lived longer to enjoy the fruits of her labor and share more precious moments with us. As human as I am, I still shed tears even as I write this tribute. Yet, we find comfort in the hope that we will meet again.

Today, as I reflect on her life, sacrifices, and prayers, I honor her memory and legacy. As Proverbs 10:7 reminds us, “The memory of the righteous is blessed.” I believe she is in a better place, resting in the presence of her Savior.

Rest on, dear mom. May God continue to strengthen us until we meet again.