Tears Are Not Enough

Tears Are Not Enough

I remembered one of mum's often spoken
proverbs, and what it actually meant.

“Of what benefit is the beauty of a pair of
attractive breasts, full of milk, if a hungry infant is
reserved to suckling stump?”

In the midst of everything else going on around
me, I kissed my kids goodnight. Then, excused
myself, while Mas prepared to get them upstairs for
their bedtime stories.

I know what I said to Janet and her husband.
But Alika's new charge changed all that.
It was trending in my head, that I just couldn't
wait any more for tomorrow.
So, I got in my car, and drove straight to the
nearest ATM cash point.
Luckily, it wasn't as busy as could be expected.
Thank goodness!
There, I made the needed withdrawal up to my
daily limit.
Then hastened to my transferring agent's office
hoping he wasn't closed.
He wasn't.
Lady luck was once again on my side.
Only one other customer was at the counter
waiting to be served.
He looked very middle aged.
No hair.
Tired!
Pot-bellied.

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This guy looked nothing like happy. I watched
while he painstakingly counted his money more than
twice.

Finally, he handed it over to Benny, the cashier.
I could have sworn the man was being thorough
with his counting, but for the perceived reluctance to
let go of his cash.
Eventually, he was done!
He picked up his proof of payment, stood aside
and muttered something in Yoruba.
Whatever he said, I did not understand.
I didn't need to.
Because his long sad face no doubt told me his
pain.
Whoever the expectant recipient may have been,
they probably believe the sender was basking in
sheer bliss.
Anyway, I handed my lot over to Benny,
instructed him on which account to be credited, and
quickly completed the transaction I had promised.
Shortly thereafter, I emailed Alika as follows:

From: Jamie
Subject: Funds Remitted
Date: Sep 13, 2017, 20:50
To: Alika

The sum of N233,500 has now been remitted to
your account.

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Could you please emphasise the need for an MRI
scan, just to ensure there are no internal head
bleeding!

They should know.
Will call you later.

Jamie
------------------------------------------

My kids were in bed by the time I got back home,
but their bedroom light was still on.

Not wanting to disturb the quiet of the night, I
tiptoed light footed into the kitchen, and gently
pulled the door closed behind me.

I called Alika's number as intended.
He answered.
But the connection was so terribly poor I could
barely hear background noises.
Alika was explaining something when suddenly
the line disconnected.
"So typical!" I grunted.
And very shamefully too.
They couldn't even get their telecommunications
systems to work without glitches.
This is the one nation with richly untapped
resources, whose leadership never gave anything
sustainable back to the people.
It's awful!
Where shall I begin?
No general water supply.

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Electricity is much afflicted with diarrhoea
blackouts, that lighting suffers constant bouts of
epileptic seizures.

Last time I checked, there still were not many
good networks of roads across the country.

Sustainable infrastructure for commercial
servicing of goods was grossly inadequate, or non-
existent.

And yet the egocentrics in position of power,
drove their luxury Buicks through muddy roads with
no drainage system.

Without adequately determined maintenance
culture, small potholes soon develop into impassable
gullies.

Anyway, time seemed to fly-by, like I was waiting
for the arrival of a travelling new bride.

Such an imaginary expectation would have been
fun, if it were the reality of life.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.
Reality was me waiting for news - an update on
the very serious matter at hand.
Then I got this:
------------------------------------------

From: Alika
Subject: Funds
Date: Sep 13, 2017, 20:59
To: Jamie

I have seen the alert for N232,500.
Thanks bro!

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God will continue to replenish your pocket
always!

Please note details so far of summary expenses as
follows:

Patient Card. N3,000.00
Consultation. N7,000.00
Admission. N150,000.00
------------------------------------
Total: N160,000

On her present condition. As I was trying to
explain when you called. They’re now saying Mum’s
sugar level is high according to new test results.

She's been administered with oxygen and wired
up with drips.

Her pulse remains poorly, though.
At the moment, they have taken her to run
another test.
ECO, I think it was called.
The supervisory doctor on her case, said she
couldn’t speak with you at the time, ‘cos she was
busy with Mum’s situation.
She hinted that another consultant will come in
later for a secondary assessment.
I guess that will now be for tomorrow.
She said they wanted to find out if there were any
blood clots around her chest, which may be making
her weak.
According to the doctor, they wouldn't be taking
her to do any head scan in her current state.
Instead, they will first want to stabilise her pulse.

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So, as I am emailing you now, she is undergoing
the ECO (echocardiogram) test.

That’s the latest for now.
I will keep you updated as the process unfolds.

Alika.
---------------------------------------------

That statement was confusing.
What the heck was going on?
Who were these people?
I'm beginning to seriously wonder whether they're
such under qualified and over rated in what they do.
Last time I checked; Mum’s sugar level was fine.
Now, I hear the report has changed to drastic
high.
Of course, I'm aware of possible variable
fluctuations that may occur, but without any triggers,
it's doubtful.
OK, so money talks - right?
That’s what happens in countries the world over.
Money quickens efforts.
In Nigeria though, it shouts loudest.
Even the Rocky Mountains at Obudu Plateau
could be heard to move swiftly, when money speaks,
quite literally.
The inconvenience of unaffordability is worse.
Poor patients may probably wind up dead,
mistreated, misdiagnosed or not efficiently looked
after, when there’s no money on the table.

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But considering that they may now have a sniff of
some remitted amount, I can only begin to be
hopeful at least, that the greased wheels of the
hospital will begin to turn.

I couldn’t have thought this any louder as I read
Alika's email.

He wrote:

From: Alika
Subject: Update
Date: Sep 13, 2017, 21:10
To: Jamie

Hello bro,
Mum has been admitted.
She is now in the general ward.
Thank you!

Alika.
---------------------------------------------

“Great news. Finally!” I muttered to myself and to
the smart phone in my hand.

Undoubtedly a modern-day useful communication
tool.

Without which, I believe things could have been a
lot trickier.

By late evening I received this:

From: Alika

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Subject: Mum
Sent: Sep 13, 2017, 21:43
To: Jamie

Good evening!
How has your day been?
Hope not too stressful!
We are still at the hospital. About to leave,
though.
Aunty Chi has volunteered to stay behind to
watch and pray over Mum, while the rest of us take
our leave.
I will definitely be coming back first thing
tomorrow morning, God willing.
Meme and his wife have already left.
Janet is still hanging around.
I'm not so sure what for.
But I know she's continually on the verge of tears.
You know what she’s like.
Anyway, she’d offered to drop me off on our way
out.
And just so you know before we leave: the night-
shift doctor who last saw Mum did suggest that her
condition is definitely a lot more serious than
originally thought.
After examining her swollen legs, hands and
taking her pulse read, she’d concluded that Mum’s
fall was a result of heart failure.
She also assumed that Mum had been managing a
heart condition for a while.

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Hence, it's gotten to the stage which has now
brought us here.

What's shocking is the news that her heart was
pumping at an abnormally slow rate of about 27
beats.

A normal healthy heart beats at about 70+ per
minute.

She also said that her legs, hands and tongue
were turning blue, as a result of irregular blood
circulation.

That Mums heart wasn't doing a good enough job.
She said they will continue to monitor her
condition overnight while trying to ensure that her
heart pumps better before carrying out the brain
scan.
About the red spots on her body, she’d concluded
that her long history of diabetes had done a lot of
damage to most of...ohhh!
I can’t remember exactly what she called it.
Apparently, she suspects that those skin spots
could be the unsightly result of internal blood
leakage.
She also believed they needed to transfer her to
HDU (High Dependency Unit) for intensive
observation.
However, to authorise such a move would incur
further cost.
We would need to pay up an additional three
hundred thousand, to make up the required total of
four hundred and fifty thousand Naira.
That’s quite a substantial amount!

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It's really sad to note that Mum becomes
extremely restless and distraught anytime the
oxygen mask is removed.

Briefly, she’d had to complain that everything
around her was on fast spin.

We therefore thought it best they left her alone in
her current ward.

At least it looks as though she gets a bit of calm.
I have attached a couple of evidence pictures,
showing the blood spots on her hands. I believe
those will make enough sense when you look at
them, than me trying to explain what I’m talking
about.
That’s the situation as of writing this email.
Have a goodnight.

Alika.
---------------------------------------------

Reading Alika’s email above, I suddenly became
aware for the first time that we might be fighting a
losing battle with Mum after all.

It was obvious to note, that if our dear beloved
mother, who was lying in a helpless state in a
hospital ward was already turning blue, as Alika had
mildly described it, to me that meant only one thing.

She was dying!
None of the medics who’d seen her had any shred
of integrity enough to tell the family to prepare
themselves for the worst outcome ever.

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Instead, it seems to me they were being used as
pawns to feed more money into the hospital's
coffers.

This sort of action was nothing short of
despicable, to say the least.

These people should judiciously be held
accountable.

They should be ashamed of themselves.
I happened to be over six thousand miles away
from the scene of action.
Honestly, I genuinely felt robbed blind and
violated.
I could barely imagine what my family on the
ground over there were going through. Especially for
the two champions, who were physically shouldering
the brunt of the daily commute and attendance, for
the rest of us absentees.
Alika had kindly wished me a goodnight rest in his
recent email, but I just couldn’t sleep.
There were too many thought scenarios running
through my mind.
Eventually, my body and spirit wore out, for which
I'm grateful.
I must have drifted off after all, somewhere
between 11pm and midnight. I couldn't tell for
certain.
Neither do I know how much I’d slept, before my
phone beeped, waking me up to a new email alert.

---------------------------------------------

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From: Alika
Subject: I'm really tired
Date: Sep 14, 2017, 01:57
To: Jamie

Hello bro!
Good morning.
Hmmmmm!!
I’m breaking down.
‘Cos it has not been easy.
It’s 01:29 in the wee hours of the next morning as
I write this.
I'm not coping well with these tears in my eyes.
We’re still battling to keep Mum alive from all
sides.
And so you know. Just after 8pm last night,
another doctor came in to check up on Mum.
He called us out afterwards and declared that
mama's condition wouldn’t be getting any better.
Her heart was getting weaker by the minute.
Summary of his statement was that Mum needed
to be moved to another hospital that had a better
intensive care unit.
If not, they could not guarantee anything.
Her life was now hanging onto a slim thread in the
balance of uncertainty.
No one knows whether she will be making it by
the morning.
From there on, we started making arrangements
for her transfer to any other hospital with better ICU.

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The hospital had recommended three others,
allegedly with full operative Intensive Care
capabilities.

The first was Lagoon hospital.
We got there alright.
Only for them to announce that we must pay
down some N2.5 million non-refundable deposit,
before they could even take a look.
Neither myself nor aunty Chi was carrying such a
ridiculous amount.
We just didn’t have it.
About the second recommendation, we were
informed by our onboard doctor, that they also
charged a little less at N1.8 million.
We didn’t have that either.
The third option was the general hospital. Where
the fee was estimated at slightly below the one
million threshold; apparently.
That last one was no use anyway.
It wouldn't have mattered much even if they
charged nothing.
They've been on strike for days.
Janet and her husband later called to advise that
we change direction and rush Mum to Eko hospital.
When we arrived, it became apparent they also
wanted a sum of N1.5 million as deposit before
access could be granted.
So, we reported back to Janet and her husband.
We’re grateful they had some hot-shot
connection with clout within the hospital's top
management hierarchy.

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Good news is; the establishment has now
temporarily agreed to admit Mum into their
intensive and critical care unit.

But only on the promised condition from Janet’s
husband that full payment will be remitted to their
account by or before 12 noon today.

As I’m emailing you, we are still waiting for them
to tell us anything different about Mum’s condition.
And if they could do anything different to help her.

I guess Janet will call you later to give you a
detailed download.

So, as of this moment, Mum is in the intensive
care unit at EKO hospital, but in a bad way.

N72,500 still remains as balance from the
previous money you remitted to my account.

That’s the latest.

Alika
---------------------------------------------

Alika's email made me feel a bit emotional.
I didn’t know whether to cry in frustration or
laugh myself silly this time of the morning.
Poor Alika!
He wasn't the emotional type.
But in the last twenty-four hours, I believe he
must have gone through all sorts of stressful
emotions enough to break down anyone.
My wife and kids were still asleep unperturbed.
I wasn’t thinking of them.

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Rather, I was thinking how much time was wasted
ferrying the poor woman from one hospital to
another, like Ms Yo-yo!

It wasn’t as though they had better roads for a
smooth driving experience in Lagos, for that matter.

What an uncomfortable bumpy ride all round it
must have been.

Could it have made things worse for Mum?
Perhaps!
Why wasn’t a call made earlier to Janet and her
husband before setting out on those futile merry-go-
rounds, which turned out to be utterly
unproductive?
They must have known how the hospitals over
there worked.
For most, evidence suggests that their priority was
never to save lives first and request payment later.
Oh no!
You pay money first or you don’t get a look in.
Not the other way around!
It didn’t matter whether a patient has been
declared half-way comatose, and needed emergency
resuscitation.
No!
Emotional sentiments don’t come into play in
these environments.
Please, do not misunderstand me.
This isn’t by any means pointing accusing fingers
of blame at anyone in particular.
I haven't been blind to the fact that everyone was
under pressure, especially those who were

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particularly doing the leg work in very uncertain and
difficult circumstances, during the small hours of the
second morning.

They all tried to do the best they could, with the
information at their disposal.

And for good reason.
I recognise they must have been drained both
mentally and physically.
Which on its own is understandable!
Everyone makes errors when strained and tired.
It’s just that a better judgement call could still
have been made, I feel.
I laid on my bed writhing in self-torment.
I picked up my phone, and then paused.
The thought of ringing Alika whom from his emails
was clearly a very tired and nearly broken young
man, at two in the morning, wasn’t the smartest idea
to come up with.
So, I didn't.
I tried to fall asleep, but determined to call Alika
as soon as dawn was fairly broken, and the Sun
began to rise.
I did, but there was no answer.
Sometime later, as I headed out the door off to
work, I received the following email.

From: Alika
Subject: Missed call
Sent: Sep 14, 2017, 09:13
To: Jamie

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Hello bro!
Good morning. How was your night?
Hope you managed to get some sleep.
I saw a missed call from your number.
Looks like you were trying to reach me.
My apologies!
I must have been out in the toilet.

Alika.
---------------------------------------------

Instead of writing an email response, I quickly sent
him a text confirming my urgent move to credit his
account with the requested amount.

I did and forwarded a further text confirming the
transfer.

Alika’s response was swift.
He replied via email.

From: Alika
Subject: Remitted funds rec'd
Date: Sep 14, 2017, 13:30
To: Jamie

Hello bro!
Good afternoon.
I've just received a deposit alert of N1,302,000.00
Please confirm if that’s what you sent?
Thanks.
God bless you and replenish you!

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Alika.
---------------------------------------------

This was my response:

From: Jamie
Subject: Re: Remitted funds rec'd
Date: Sep 14, 2017, 14:00
To: Alika

Yes, I did! Who else was expending?

I didn't get a response to such blatantly
patronising and rude sentence.

Not that I was surprised by the silence.
Anyway, there was nothing more for me to do
than wait for his next update.
Although I’d carried this strange feeling of
something not being quite right for a while, unless I
was missing something terribly unimportant, such
feeling would not budge.
It saddled with me.
Lingered!
Floating in my mind, like the stale reminder of an
expected bad news.
And with all that had happened within the last
twenty-four hours, somehow within me, I knew that
something had horribly gone wrong.
I just couldn't put my finger on it.
Still, I kind of hoped that Mum would pull
through.

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After all, she is my mother.
The great survivor.
Somehow, she always manages to beat the odds.
And had previously come through very depressing
moments of her life in the past.
I secretly wished I would be able to see her face
and laugh with her again.
She was a fighter.
The peaceful kind.
Inwardly though, I seriously hoped for some hand
of benevolence, from the highest power of all things,
that is.
A special hand of God’s mercy towards her would
do for me.
I did not only wish for one, I wanted a miracle!
Then I read this:

From: Alika
Subject: Latest
Date: Sep 14, 2017, 20:53
To: Jamie

Hello bro!
Good evening.
How was today for you?
Hope you're fine.
We are just about to leave the hospital now.
The cardiologist came to see Mum.
His recommended solution to help with Mum’s
decreasing heart beat was to implant an electronic
pacemaker.

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Unfortunately, he’s moved that over for
tomorrow.

He also assured us that the mechanism, once
inserted, would be most beneficial for Mum’s quality
of life.

The pacemaker comes with a lifespan of up to 10
years, he said.

However, since they did not have the required
facilities, they’d have to arrange to move Mum once
again, to where there’s one to carry out this
procedure he described as ‘keyhole’ surgery.

When we asked what the entire process will
involve cost-wise, he advised that we wait to speak
with the chief matron who’d explain it better to us.

It was obvious to me that he didn't want to be
seen discussing the money part with us there and
then.

Anyway, the matron finally came in at about
20:15.

She narrated how they’d been making enquiries
on ends, as though we owed her such huge
gratitude.

She said they finally managed to come up with the
best possible packaged price they could arrange
under the circumstances.

Bro, it's N1,650,000.00!
This price assuredly covers everything from
materials to labour and care.
The funny thing was that the matron rudely
declined Janet’s request to begin the process with an
initial down payment of a substantial deposit.

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Bro, what happened next was shamefully
disgraceful.

You won't believe it unless you were here.
She proudly declared that such keyhole
procedures were usually carried out on full cash
payment basis only.
Janet kindly asked if the surgery could then be
extended by one extra day, to enable us to put
together the entire sum being requested.
The matron said we must consider the fact that
Mum was on a limited life support.
Her pulse had now dropped to a very low 25
beats.
You did ask whether Mum could talk.
Yes!
She did speak briefly with us when we went in to
talk with the consultant.
Mum had managed to call us out by our names, as
though acknowledging who was present.
She also sounded like her voice was failing her.
She could only manage a few words.
So, that’s the latest update of today’s hospital
activities.
Bro, I must admit, it's been an extremely stressful
day for all concerned.
There will be no cheers for today.
Neither will there be any merry bells ringing in my
ears as at when I lay my head down to rest.

Alika.
---------------------------------------------

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Just reading Alika's last email account alone
shattered all my reserved emotional bottlenecks.

My eyes quickly clouded over with tears.
I felt like my mother’s dire condition and her
struggle between the peripheries of life and jaws of
death, was being inappropriately manipulated.
Like she was some sort of commodity up for
bartering in Addis Ababa's marketplace.
If my mother’s heartbeat had dropped to a mere
25 a minute, what sort of medic would suggest these
bizarre opinions I had previously read from Alika's
email updates, if not for the interest of making
money?
This sort of attitude was so grossly unprofessional.
I felt sick to the pit of my stomach at all the
general attitude of sunken greed.
Six thousand miles away, it was clear to me as
quick sand, that our dear mother had slipped
through the threshold of no return.
My mother was dying.
Such an obvious conclusion was so elementary.
And I was no medic.
How could they not see that?
It seemed obvious to me that my family on the
ground were being dressed up in half-truths.
It was too easy to be convinced, that the more
money they were able to cough up, the better the
chances of keeping Mum alive with a pacemaker.
But for how long!

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How could the state and the medical association
allow such practices to occur in a profession whose
first ethos is to save human lives?

My mother was fighting her greatest battle.
I believe she must have wanted to hold onto life
with each drag of a slow and laboured breath.
But it was also evident that she had fallen onto
the losing side, gradually slipping away.
Yet the diabolical matron, who's merely an
operative in a ludicrously flawed system, was
determined to accept full cash only payment.
This wasn't a very good day on any account all
round.
Regardless, one has to have hope, until the last
breath fades away.
Don't they?
So, I had hope.
Above all else, I more than wished that the sun
would shine over mum. I wished there would be
some better news in the morning. It would change
everything.

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11

So, the expected morning finally arrived as normal
for the living.

We awake.
Life begins.
In my hour of despair, I had strongly held onto the
hope of my belief.
I have called upon the name of the Almighty,
seven times.
And sought his hand of benevolence and mercy
more than I'd ever done before.

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My feeling of desperation was however
strengthened as the seconds of time ticked by.

Miracles still do happen.
Don’t they?
Of course they do!
It was only a consoling thought.
One of which I'd hoped might just be around the
corner to turn things around for Mum.
Then later, as I read this, it sourly dawned on me
that it wasn't the miracle I'd wished for.

From: Alika
Subject: Final countdown!
Date: Sep 15, 2017, 12:45
To: Jamie

Hello bro!
I'm just about finished with the bank and back at
the hospital.
Thank you.
Mum’s final countdown has begun.
It's not good news.
We have not informed Janet of the present
situation.
‘cos she is at work, and nobody wants to see her
lose control and possibly get fired.
She would be coming to the hospital during her
lunch break.
We'd decided it might be best if she witnesses
Mum's latest condition for herself, rather than any of
us calling to tell her.

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Nobody wants to hear their little sister being
hysterical over the phone.

You know what I mean?
The situation here might just help her calm down
a bit.
It's doubtful, but I hope!
So, if you wish to call me, please do.

Alika
---------------------------------------------

I didn't.
Instead, I called Meme.
As luck would have it, he was at the hospital.
It seemed like all indications about our mother's
fate was leading on to one inevitable hopeless
conclusion.
“What's your honest take on Mum's condition?” I
asked solemnly.
“There's no justification to keep her hooked up
onto a life support machine, when there's no more
life left in her. Her tongue has fallen flat in her
mouth. She's turned blue. Mum's gone, Jamie. And
I'm calling off the life support system.”
I'd never known Meme to make a decision so
drastic so quickly.
I guess being present at the scene and witnessing
what I couldn't must have given him a better
understanding than the person who was far away,
trying to prolong the obvious.
“Are you sure about such a decision?”

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“Positive!”
“OK! But please, I beg you. I’d rather you get a
qualified medical doctor to certify such finality,” I
suggested.
Meme agreed with great difficulty.
For me, it seemed like the end of an era.
Sadly, and for the record, our dearest mother, a
woman with tremendous courage and faith, was
medically certified as demised.
Mum's shining light was finally extinguished on
the fifteenth day of September 2017 at 13:15.
A circle of life has ended!
This day, will I never forget, as long as I live!
Suddenly, I thought to myself.
The first death of a very dear one has finally
touched my immediate stronghold.
This is My family.
My blood.
My bone.
My flesh!
It was like an uninvited invasion of my hard core.
Actually hitting home to where it really hurts.
This was nothing compared to however you may
possibly feel at the news of the passing away of
some passive or distant relative.
No! I wasn't exactly sure how to deal with so
much emotional pain weighing heavily upon my
entire being, to be honest.
I was at work in my office when all this unfolded.
Mas was seated on her desk, an earshot away.
So, she overheard the entire conversation.

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Afterwards, as I hung up the phone, I sucked in a
deep breath to keep my emotions in check.

I tried to put up a brave straight face, both for her
sake, and any customer who might have chosen that
very sad moment to walk into my office.

I'd rather not want to imagine the reaction of
anybody walking into such an environment without
notice, only to assume that we were two emotional
wrecks not worth doing business with.

“She's gone?”
I nodded affirmative.
“Oh Jamie!” She declared in her broken but soft
sympathetic wifely voice.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. I really am. Is there
anything I can do for you? A glass of water maybe?”
“No! Thanks! It was expected. I guess I was only
being too optimistic with my expectations for a
different outcome.”
Mas then came over to my desk.
That was it.
My cool went into meltdown.
The moment she placed her comforting arms
around my right shoulder, something inside me
broke to pieces.
I was overwhelmed.
The wave of my emotions took a battering of
tsunami proportion.
Never had I felt anything like this before.
Never even knew what the impact was.
Or recognised that such a feeling was buried deep
within me until now.

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Surely, this was something I could not control.
It just was not good enough however manly I tried
to stifle it.
Be brave! I thought to myself.
You can handle this!
It felt like the bursting of my unseen fortress, the
shattering of my tears gateway.
I was helpless.
My eyes flooded without constraints.
Like a pond bursting its banks.
I wasn't handling this any better as previously
thought I could.
My shoulders shuddered in spasms of deep
quaking tremors.
I could taste the saltiness of my tears as I broke
down and wept bitterly.
It was all coming out from the pit of my emotional
hangovers, and the inner depths of my very being.
Like a tearful child crying for his lost mother.
Well, here's irony for you.
I had just lost mine.
I was the grown-up child.
I couldn't help myself, but wept.

228

12

I wept because my efforts weren't good enough to
keep Mum alive.

I cry because henceforth, and for the rest of my
days, will I ever miss her admirable motherly smile.

She had a strong aura of peace about her.
My mother's laughter was inspiring, while the
calmness of her unconditional love made us bold.
Sometimes too, I remember she gets into self-
inflicted monologues with herself.

229

Tears Are Not Enough

Not really important here, but now I seem to
realise I never really got to ask why she did those
monologues.

I guess I'll now never know.
Well, the house is all good.
Only with a very different kind of quiet.
The acknowledgement that super grandma is not
here anymore has gradually settled with my kids, I
hope!
I shed these tears because I note that except for
the small of my feet, I am nothing like my mother.
I am torn.
Sometimes I wish I...l could possess just a tiny
fraction of her kind spirit.
Or her wisdom of careful choice of seasoned
words.
I don't really know whether people actually wish
for something like that?
These days, anytime I look ahead in the street and
see an elderly woman in front of me, or across the
road, my eyes clouds over with these tears.
The feeling is worse when I see someone else with
their mother, who may likely be the age, Mum would
or could have been.
Yes, I do silently cry because, of all the people
who should have known better, I woefully failed her
indeed.
I blame myself for not pulling out all the necessary
stops for her, when it mattered most.
I blame myself for letting her go in the first place
even when I knew the decision was flawed.

230

C S Duru

I blame myself for carrying on with life, and
minding my own business, even when I had very
strong premonitions, that things weren't exactly as
seemed.

I blame me for hoping that by doing absolutely
nothing; everything will just roll into place without
effort.

Whoever does that in these days and age of fast
running and hastened living?

I did!
So, I continually blame myself for knowing all of
this. And yet, I slacked, in every which way, to
granting her one wish, that she’d asked of me, twice.
Hence, with each episode of emotional tear-
jerking, day or night, and no matter how
overwhelming, I still tell myself that these tears will
never be enough.
You see, I only have to recall half a sentence she’d
made one time or another.
Or a collection of her common expressions. Which
often were riddled with so much wisdom, as I stand
underneath the shower, while water runs through
my skin.
And straight away, just like that, the white of my
eyes would turn into the colour of my blood.
I still can't help myself.
Once again, I'm overwhelmed with floods of
emotional turmoil.
Regrets?
I have loads!

231

Tears Are Not Enough

Like the time I grudgingly blamed Mum for leaving
tiny leftovers of fresh milk in the bottle.

They should have been used up in a mug of tea or
coffee.

The nearly finished 1 litre bottle of water, which
unusually is tucked away at the edge of our kitchen
worktop, beside the fridge freezer.

She got the blame for it.
Well, it still happens.
I am certain that this same action is never the
making of the spirit manoeuvres of my dead
ancestors.
Oh! The pot of half cooked black-eyed beans
sitting on the gas hob?
That was definitely her making.
What about the opened, but uneaten pot of
unflavoured Greek yogurt?
She never liked the sour taste of them anyway.
So, why waste them?
It turned out she was absolutely guilty free of
most of such allegedly accused.
Well, except for the black-eyed beans part.
And yet, she didn't even break wind.
Nor breathe a word in self-defence.
It was often about the irrelevant things which got
under my skin.
How could I ever have even considered being
mean spirited to the kindliest hearted mother
anyone could have wished for?
I regret my entire mean streak.
None of which was often necessary in hindsight.

232

C S Duru

When I remember what I'd done, I'm ashamed of
myself.

Sometimes too, I cry for being angry at being
angry.

Wait!
How is that even possible?
Can anyone actually be angry at themselves for
being upset?
I don't know!
Nevertheless, I am so vexed with the all-powerful
creator of the universe.
Only because I know this much.
It is utterly fruitless idiocy.
He’s way too far above any physical horizons for
mere nonentities like me to propose any kind of
discussion.
If I were a potter, I wouldn't expect the clay which
I've put together to suddenly turn around and give
me dirty looks.
Would you?
It's so nonsensical.
My vexation was foolish.
Biblical history tells us that the last time ancient
humans determinedly planned with one voice to
build Babel, they all got sent scattering in different
directions with the multiplicity of languages.
Confusion!
Mum never had an angry bone in her DNA.
Never saw her upset with any of her children.
Or the other world outside of her front door.
You know!

233

Tears Are Not Enough

Like seriously ‘smokin’ riotous wrath.
Never!
Not even when she busted into my bedroom
uninvited on a negative Sunday afternoon and
caught me red-handed.
I was virtually canoodling with my first ever
proper teenage girlfriend.
Once or twice I had wondered at the time if it had
been my father who walked in on us instead.
Well, let's just say the outcome would definitely
have been an unhinged catastrophe.
I would have been disowned, ostracised and sent
packing to nowhere, right there on the spot.
But on that one occasion, I guess I was lucky.
Being kicked-out from the family home wasn't
going to happen on my mother's watch.
She was a natural.
She understood.
A protectionist.
She also did something else remarkably
unexpected.
She'd quietly shut my door behind her without
making a scene.
Never said a word about this to my father, or
anybody else!
I still picture that day vividly in my mind's eye, like
it all happened the day before yesterday.
Now you know.
So, as these words pour out of me like stale water
gathering into a pond, my eyes are again foggy with
tears.

234

C S Duru

I feel a wave of inward torment which I don't
understand.

The questions kept coming.
Why?
Mum passed away at eighty-three.
Seven years short of what could have been a
glorious approach to her twilight years of ninety.
That would have been a ripe old age by any
standard.
It's quite unfortunate she didn't make it.
Heart-breaking to say the least.
Still, it should have been a celebration of a life
well spent by all accounts.
So, why don't I feel like slicing a cream cake and
stuffing my face with chocolate?
Because she should not have been cut down by a
fall.
She should still have been with us.
She passed away due to gross negligence by
everyone around her.
Mum died because urgently needed action was
not appropriately executed in good time.
I can only suggest that help was unnecessarily
delayed when it mattered the most.
When it finally arrived, it was obviously bloody
too late for her.
How tragic!
My mother died waiting to be relieved from her
haemorrhaging brain, which no one had picked up.

235

Tears Are Not Enough

Those money grabbing greedy bastards, whose
call to medicine was to heal and save lives first, failed
grossly in their duty of care.

This is corporate manslaughter.
But hospital authorities have remained defiant in
denial in a country where life means very little
without a deposit.
Surely, they would definitely receive their
comeuppance someday.
The sad outcome now is this: I as well as my other
siblings are now certified half orphans.
Together, we have lost the family matriarch,
whose love glued us all together.
The one woman who was so dearly beloved by
every one of her children.
The kindest woman I've ever known as a mother.
A great woman of faith!
Her grace was infectious.
Unassumingly comforting was her quietness!
Her love for us all, boundless!
I can only hope that she knew we all loved her for
her simple but wise approach to life.
If there was one thing I regret so much after the
event; it’s the sudden realisation, that I never
actually opened my bloody mouth for once to tell her
so.
That is: how much she meant to me personally,
and to each one of us really.
It is a realisation that now really hurts in the
depths of my heart.

236

C S Duru

My mother's passing from life to the silent gong of
death was the end of an era.

I could be wrong in believing that she died
because there was no money on the table at the
most opportune of timed events.

I hope I am, considering other factors!
But the guilt effect still tears me apart to this day.
Mum absolutely deserved better than she got.
If the dead could hear the living, I would have
gone to sit on the dirt of her grave and utter those
simple words.
How much I loved her.
How sorry I am for my lapses.
How much I miss her.
But I know for a fact they don’t!
Any words I could think of now seemed so hollow
and meaningless.
The dead return to mother earth.
They will all rot in no time and turn to dust.
The worms and the undergrowth will feed and
become nourished.
I know that composting doesn't speak.
The dead don't even know they're demised in
their longest deepest sleep ever.
Neither do all in such condition entertain any
memories whatsoever.
Their portion amongst the living on earth is over.
Yes, I know all of that!
Sadly, it doesn't change how I feel.
Only because I'm human!

237

Tears Are Not Enough

Carelessly, someone had hinted to another during
my mother's burial.

“If only they’d left the poor woman alone
overseas, maybe, just maybe, her story would not
have ended the way it had.

I wasn't there, but I heard.
Once again, I feel the return of sharp guilty stabs
in my heart.
I'm sure I bled those tears again.
Makes me wonder though, if I will ever be
unbroken.
So, you see, I still CRY because the wound won't
heal.
I FEEL GREAT PAIN!
Sometimes, it feels like my heart is continually
BREAKING!

“Does that mean that super grandma would not
come back to visit us anymore?”

Mas and I exchanged quick robotic glances.
The innocence of children.
So unexpected you see, the question that is!
“No darling! Super grandma would be asleep six
foot below ground level for a very long time,” Mas
kindly explained.
Our little girl's eyes suddenly clouded very quickly.
It was clear that she now understood.
Each one of us sort of suspected what was
imminent if we did nothing.
So, we all huddled together tightly in a family
group hug and allowed the kids to shed a few tears.

238

C S Duru
My heart is still heavy.
“I will miss grandma's delicious black-eye beans

porridge,” remarked our little one tearfully.
"Me too darling. Me too. Even though it gives me

gout!"

=== THE END ===

239