2018/11/21

Mobolaji Olorisade: An Open Letter to Those Who Have Lost Their Mothers



It’s been six months since my mummy died. Six whole months without a single call, without a scold, without seeing her dance her weird dance when she’s happy. Six months without walking into her shop to see her face light up.

It’s been six months without many things I have always known and always done. But this letter isn’t about me. It was written for you: you whose mother has died.
First, it’s not your fault. Stop blaming yourself.
I remember a few weeks after my mum passed. I couldn’t believe that I did not suspect that she was dying. How could I have gone to the hospital that Sunday morning without a single clue that my mother was gone? How can I claim to be spiritual if I could not even suspect that one of the most important person’s in my life was leaving?
So many ‘If I had…’ thoughts plagued me and I’m guessing a lot of those thoughts hit you too, especially if the loss is still so fresh, but I want you to know that it’s really not your fault.
You’ll never be able to move past the hurt and crazy pain if you wake everyday with the weight of guilt on your shoulders.
Think about it, your mum would have wanted you to live a wholesome and satisfying life and that can never happen if you always bow your head in guilt and self-hate. I believe I’ve gotten to the point where I know that my mum would be so proud of how far me and my sisters have come. This is not to say that it has been easy, because it has not. I cry as I write this very piece. But because I’ve learned to live above the blame and guilt, it has strengthened me and helped me to appreciate the small things of life.
I know it’s easier said than done, but I hope you find the wholeness you deserve. I hope this pain propels you and doesn’t drown you.
Second, your dreams don’t have to die with your mum.
I remember texting my sister a few days after my mum’s death that I didn’t see the point of living. I didn’t get the point of coming here to go through stuff and just leave. I felt like I did not have the right to dream big dreams again. Who was I to enjoy or even do life without my mummy?
In all honesty, a part of me still feels like some of my dreams have died with her, dreams and prayers I had prayed for many years that will not be realized here. Dreams of her meeting my husband and taking care of my children, all those are gone now.
But what about the dreams I had as a individual?
I don’t ever want to live like my mother never existed. I don’t ever want to forget her, and I wouldn’t, but I know without doubt that she’ll have wanted me to dream greater and mind blowing dreams because of this. I can even see her angry face if I ever tried to be less than the person God has called me to be.
If you also feel like I did few months ago, as if all your dreams are dead, too, and there’s no point to life, I’ll leave you with what my sister said to me: This is the time to dream. Take this pain and turn it into something beautiful. Go after life with zest and become a better version of yourself. Let the reality that you’ll actually not always be here drive you to take more intentional steps.
Take yourself out, be more vulnerable, allow new friends into your life, give that person a chance to love you, travel more, hone your skills; do what it takes to truly enjoy and get better at life. I’m certain that’s what your mum and my mum would have wanted.
This can be the beginning of new things if you let it.
Love and light,
Mobolaji.