When I am asked what my greatest fear is, I go mediocre and mention the likes of cockroaches, snakes, spiders, and of course on everyone’s list; the dark. Mostly because I never really quite put much thought into it, sometimes I stretch it and say fear itself. This is just to deter people’s thoughts and to seem mischievously witty and add a little spice of drama to it.
One day while reveling (read enduring) the breeze at Moi University’s great academic walk my mother calls. Like all mothers, she calls randomly and talks for centuries on. I have no scuffle with this because I tend to relish in her long talks; they have a calming effect.
Sometimes I do not pick up; depending on the location, nature and state of my surroundings. If you have been to University, you need no explanation. Mother, if you are reading this, my blog has been hacked; I promise. Aside from that, this time I picked the call, we conversed about everything and everyone and in due time I had already reached my place. At the end of the call, I realized something that I have never paid attention to.
Contentment. Zeal. Ease. Relieved. It’s like bursting out an overbearing secret, or like feeling hungry in the middle of the night then waking up only to find leftovers, or staying up until late to write an article about your mother. Its unexplainable, its mystical, it’s the undying ‘yes’ feeling we all experience once every black moon and it’s downright mine. So what is my greatest fear?
Losing my mother. The meaning of treasuring someone has been demeaned and regarded as something of monetary value but when I say treasure I mean exactly that and in that order. When you treasure someone to the core of your very being, their status becomes automatically elevated to the top, your whole existence is covered with their ambiance and halo. You get to realize that one plus one can actually be one. The kind of love a mother gives is unfathomable hence the saying ‘a face only a mother can love’ meaning everyone might go blind upon seeing you but a mother would still call you a handsome boy. Not to sound sexist.
A mother would blow your nose with the corner of her best blouse, she would take her saliva and wipe of food from your face, she would hit you with a dirty slipper only to give you a bath, let’s not forget the way they would tie a handkerchief around our waist so as not to lose it, or put coins for snacks in a handkerchief and of course singing lullabies and soon after beating us so that we can sleep faster.
If thank you could be able to feed all the sacrifices, turmoil and pain you have gone through I would be happy but just like 2 Pac I only want to show you that I understand; you are appreciated.