Debbie Ogunjobi
Two years ago, I was at a landmark stage in my life, I was turning 40 and looking back; I wouldn’t wish the agro of the day to anyone. It came with a gift I wanted so badly but had to turn down. I had been convinced that whatever I did or didn’t do that year would have consequences that would affect the rest of my life.

There was a deep “Knowing” of that truth and I followed that leading. I embraced the truth of the narrow way and I must admit that my flesh hated that truth. It wasn’t fun or nice in any way; my European Spa getaway I [planned turned out to be a disaster of cataclysmic proportions.

What I thought would be a time of great refreshing and peaceful contemplation turned out to be one of isolation and depression. Having a midlife crisis surrounded by love struck honeymooners and giddy lovers is not fun when you are on your own and down in the mouth! I had close friends questioning the inward truth that led to the decision to be on my own and I hated that narrow way; on that day I questioned it too!

Looking back now I am convinced that no prayer gets answered more robustly than the one said by the broken hearted and heaven knows I prayed or should I say wailed!!!

This particular column begins the end game of this particular adventure! 50 columns from now I would be penning my swan song and bringing this column or should I say journey to an end. I can’t believe I actually followed through and wrote consistently for 10 years just like I promised.

I am one of those people who try to capture their moments and I have kept a diary on and off for most of my life. It’s almost like reality television as it’s a rendition of life through someone else’s eyes; standing in someone’s shoes and learning from their experience or just being entertained. The jury is out as to how successful that has been but I have always found writing very therapeutic and to use my favourite term cathartic.

My premise being, that if one can only write down occurrences they become less threatening and even bring out behavioural patterns and cycles. It’s like a full blown action movie where one can press the pause button to take in all that’s happening and possibly re-write the next scene.

Writing is the best legacy I believe I can give my children and their children; they get to know me and their roots. They may choose to learn from my life or be entertained by it but they get the knowledge and therein lies the power. One of my most valued possessions is the library of my mother’s diaries; it’s a legacy I treasure; it’s raw and truthful but it captures the essence of her. Long after the inheritance is frittered away and all other treasures are lost and faded those diaries and her favourite nightshirt have come to be invaluable heirlooms I treasure.

They tell me she was here, that she cared very deeply, that she was doing the best she knew how, given her situation and that till the very end her expression remained love and not bitterness. The show me what it is to stare death in the face and not blink; they show me the courage of a woman, who at 48 chose to die with dignity than become a drain on her family emotionally and financially.

My mother died of cervical cancer and there had been the option of a procedure that involved surgically removing the areas ravaged by cancer (intestines and other organs) and would have meant wearing a colostomy bag and she had declined.

“Death is not abdication, I am their mother, I serve my children better by preparing and equipping them to survive this”. Written on the 17th of February 1996.

They explain that she couldn’t become the mother who had to be fed by tube and leak faeces because she had no digestive organs if she consented to surgery.

“I smile, the pain is tearing me apart; the medications no longer work but I will keep smiling; they must remember me smiling!” written on the 20th of April 1996.

I didn’t understand her decision in 1996 and I can’t say I respected it back then. I thought she didn’t love us enough to stay but reading those entries a few years later I realise she loved us too much to become a burden and destroy us with the pain that had no end. The surgery and maintenance of her health would have meant selling almost everything and it wouldn’t have been a cure, it would just delay the end for another 18 months at best.

I know my mother better in death than when she was alive because her thoughts were documented for me and my siblings. So I write to honour her and pass the torch to my children.

Vanguard gave me an opportunity to share my journey with the world. It has had to pass muster and it’s not my unrecognizable scribbles but well written manuscripts which like I promised would be compiled into a book for the 10 people who have shared the past 10 years with me. I will be going back into the archives and bringing the ones I consider best back to life to reminisce in the coming year but it’s great to see the finish line in sight… the end game begins here and now.