Dr Eberechi Ifeonu, Esq. Honours His Beloved Mother In A Heartfelt Tribute As She Makes Her Final Journey Home
Today we share a deeply moving tribute written by Dr. Eberechi Ifeonu, Esq., a Nigerian-Canadian lawyer, in memory of his late mother. In this heartfelt reflection, he speaks from the depth of his pain, love, and admiration for the woman who shaped his life and journey. The tribute captures not only the profound loss he feels but also the enduring beauty of a mother’s love.
GOODBYE, “NNE CHINWE” – A TRIBUTE FROM YOUR FAVOURITE “BARRI”
Nothing prepares anyone for saying goodbye to a parent, especially a mother of your kind and calibre. It has been a few weeks of anguish and many months of trepidation for the news that eventually broke on October 9, 2024. As your health took a turn for the worse on and around that day, series of frantic and frenetic phone calls from me summed up my desperation for good news – for some sort of “King Hezekiah moment” – so I could see you and spend some time with you, at least one more time. Before your death, I had already quietly bought my ticket to Nigeria for December and had hoped to take you by surprise – a surprise that did not materialize. And now, there is a part of me that wonders whether not telling you about this home coming was a bad idea – whether your anticipation of my coming would have provided some form of suspended mortality.
You loved your children in equal measures and gave each and every one of us equal opportunities. But I would bet that you had a particularly softer spot for me, and I believe it was because we looked alike, at least that was what many people said. We had such an indescribable magical connection formed in the crucible of shared physical and emotional like-mindedness. To buttress this point, I recall a funny, albeit self-aggrandizing, experience I had as a child which I shared with you and which you never forgot. I was walking to somewhere (I believe Afor market) through “Umuturu” road (it seemed a shorter route than going through Umuahinihu-Umuikpa road). As I walked past two women (after the late Josiah Agbasonye’s house), I eavesdropped on their short but poignant conversation about me, and by extension, you. One of them had turned to the other and asked, “onye bu nwaata nke a mara mma” (that is, “who is this handsome child”)? And the other responded, “Obu n’imaghi nne ya” (that is, “so you don’t know his mom”)? And she then said, “obu n’imaghi Georgiana Ifeonu? Ile ya anya n’ihu, i ga ama nne ya (that is, “so you don’t know Georgiana Ifeonu? if you look at his face, you should be able to identify his mother”). I was probably 7 or 8 years old at the time.
The above experience meant so much to me for two reasons: One, and quite obviously, their description of me as “handsome” did so much for my confidence. After all, who doesn’t love a compliment, especially one bordering on looks? In fact, when I got home, I remember going to my mom and querying her about not telling me that I was handsome. With so much affectionate shock in her eyes, she asked me what had happened, and I told her about the conversation between the two women, and she had a good laugh. I recall her saying, with so much laughter, “Ihuna nu na nne gi mara mma” (that is, “now you can see that your mom is beautiful”), which was no exaggeration. Second, the feeling of seeing my mom through the lens of my face was indescribable. I could tell my mom too savoured the ricochet of the compliment, which was why she retold this story many times during family gatherings.
But you weren’t just an embodiment of beauty, you were also industrious and entrepreneurial, dabbling into any trade that had any prospect of a decent profit margin, such as palm oil, cloths, yam, and “snuff” (aka “Otaba”). For you, the North Star was always food security for your children who you did everything possible to ensure never lacked the essential things of life. Even when you became a single mother following the death of your husband over two decades ago, you took care of us your children and provided us with all the security we needed.
To say you meant so much to me is a criminal understatement. You were my anchor, my advisor and my best friend. I was quite proud of you, just, as I am sure, you were of me. You celebrated every little accomplishment of mine, whether it was when I gained admission into the university to study law or when I was called to the Nigerian Bar. I fondly called you “Nne Chinwe’ (Chinwe, who tragically died a little over two years ago, being the name of your first child), and you called me “Barri”. You invested in me and my siblings when you could and we had hoped that we would, in turn, become your pension and gratuity. It saddens my heart that you did not live long enough to enjoy the fruit of your labour. Since your death, I have been on a journey of introspection, wondering whether I could have done more to elongate your life or even physically spend more time with you.
Grief, psychologists say, goes through five stages – denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. The theory is that over time, anyone who experiences sudden loss of a loved one gets to the final stage which is the stage of total surrender and acceptance of the reality of the loss. Well, to be entirely honest, it has been several months since you died, yet I am still on the second stage – anger. Although you always inquired about me and my kids – your grandchildren – you never had an opportunity to see some of them or witness the growth of the two you saw when they were babies – guilt that I will feel for the rest of my life.
Mom, as angry and heartbroken as I am, I know your death is consistent with the natural order of the universe, which is that children are supposed to bury their parents, and not the other way round. I know also that you would not have wished or prayed for an exception. Which is why I am grateful for whoever it was who said these words to me: “There is a beautiful privilege in watching a parent transition to the other side, knowing that they are now in the glory of our great God, with the King of Kings and the Lord of lords where there is no pain, sickness or disease.”
May your late husband and your first daughter make your transition to the world beyond seamless and may God grant your soul eternal rest.
Adieu Nne Chinwe
Adieu Mama
Signed:
Dr. Eberechi Ifeonu
