Lunga and I have often talked about writing about our mothers, but we each have put off doing that. Somehow we seem to find a reason not to write the pieces we discussed or we end up writing other pieces. I think part of the reason is that we both lost our mothers young. I was 28; Lunga was much, much younger. I have yet to write my piece, but here is Lunga’s. – Rose
Twice each and every month the mother who gave birth to me came to the Eastern Cape bearing gifts for everyone and more for me. Sweets, chips and every other thing that was hard to come by as my mother (the mother who gave birth to the mother that gave birth to me) had to make ends meet with every penny while medical aid ripped her salary apart. We slept with our stomachs filled, no matter what it was we had for supper and it tasted good because it was prepared with love or at least sometimes we would assume she cooked it since she bought the groceries.
I never understood why the mother who gave birth to me stayed only a day and left for Durban again. Turns out she too was trying to make ends meet for herself while saving for the designer clothing she would buy for me. Then I didn’t know or care about brands and now I know they were expensive clothing. Big brand names, now that I think about it. She always would buy me presents when I went to see her in Durban, but now the best present I would love is a kidney. Don’t matter the whether it comes in a cheap packaging or not.
Many times I battle with the thought of how better life would be if my mother was still alive until thinking about my maturity. I ask myself whether it’s good for grown ups to really need a mother’s love. My mother died very early and I really don’t remember how it felt like. Perhaps she would have stayed by my side when everyone within my family looked at me like I did something bad when I went to the internet to ask people for a kidney. Sometimes I find myself crying thinking about how I must ask for help from people I am not related to. How my own people start an argument when one must help me with something. People I didn’t even know before I got diagnosed with renal failure have become my family.
I think about how life would be if I had a mother who would come to see me in hospital when no one even thinks about calling me when I get admitted. Sometimes I tell myself I will go somewhere far where they won’t even be able to trace me. I shall get there and find me a thoughtful woman who has wife characteristics and marry. We will then adopt a baby and a pet and live happily without even touching the word family. Not that I hate my family, but because without my mother whom I remember was the one to show me affection family isn’t there. Perhaps that’s why I didn’t feel any. I would then tell my wife to bury me without my family’s presence when my heart gives in and kidney disease tear us apart.
A mother I celebrate with through the kind of love I get from my guardian angels, I like to call them. And I know mother’s day means a lot. I celebrate it wishing I had a chance to experience a mother’s love.