Grief comes to us all in different ways.
For Damola*, his grief has deepened into an overwhelming feeling of guilt after visiting the cemetery one year after his mum鈥檚 death and being unable to locate her grave.
As Told To Adeyinka
In July 2022, I lost my mum a few weeks after her 55th birthday.
The entire experience still feels like a script from a Nollywood movie. She fell sick on a Monday, complaining of a fever and cold feet.
At first, we thought it was nothing serious鈥攋ust the regular cold that鈥檇 require over-the-counter medication and some hot liquid. But by midnight that Monday, what started as a cold had also affected her breathing.
We went to a private hospital very early the next morning, and the doctor thought it was probably a severe case of cold. She got stronger doses of cold and catarrh medication, but she didn鈥檛 feel any better.
By evening, her younger sibling joined us in the hospital and insisted we take her to a specialist hospital in Ebute Metta. By then, her breathing had gotten really bad. At the specialist hospital, the doctors confirmed it wasn鈥檛 a cold, but pulmonary embolism.
My mum died in the early hours of Wednesday morning before the doctors could prep her for surgery.
The burial ceremony was a blur. I didn鈥檛 have the presence of mind to take note of my surroundings鈥攏ot who was there with us or what the place looked like. I just knew we were at Atan cemetery in Yaba.
Reality only set in the next morning. I got a call from my aunty asking me to return to the cemetery and make plans to properly secure my mum鈥檚 gravesite.
The first question I blurted out was, 鈥淲here is her grave?鈥澛
The question threw my aunty off, and she went on a gentle rant about how she鈥檇 shown me markers the previous day. I wanted to argue, but I didn鈥檛 know if she鈥檇 understand if I told her I had little to no memory of everything that transpired at the cemetery.
After the call, I found my way to the cemetery in Yaba. Luckily, some guys remembered me from the previous day and offered to help me locate my mum鈥檚 grave. I thought it was kind of them until they started pitching their services, and I realised it was a business.
They suggested marble tiles, a gated fence, headstones, and other options to beautify the grave. We eventually went for a simple marble and headstone design.
I remember taking several pictures of my mum鈥檚 gravesite after the workers finished. I also recorded the surrounding graves and trees 鈥 everything I considered a landmark to help me remember.
After leaving the cemetery, I made a pact with myself to visit the grave as frequently as possible. I couldn鈥檛 shake the feeling that my mum was all alone in the ground, in the vast ocean of graves, and she鈥檇 need a companion, or at least an offspring, who remembered her every once in a while.
For reasons beyond me, I couldn鈥檛 keep that pact.
To start with, I was posted to Osogbo for NYSC three months after my mum died. There wasn鈥檛 enough time to visit the cemetery the few times I was in Lagos. Besides, after her death, I鈥檇 listened to Islamic lectures where I learnt it was wrong to idolise the grave of a loved one. Nothing else really counts as long as you remember to pray and seek forgiveness on their behalf.
So, every time I didn鈥檛 visit the grave, I took solace in the fact that I prayed for my mother. Yet, this hasn鈥檛 stopped me from feeling guilty.
I returned to Lagos earlier this year. Soon after, I started to have more frequent dreams about my mum. The dreams weren鈥檛 strange 鈥 they鈥檇 always happened 鈥 but the increased frequency this time worried me. So, one day, I called my spiritual guardian and told him what I鈥檇 been experiencing.
He asked when last I prayed or gave alms on my mum鈥檚 behalf, and I said I always prayed for her. He then suggested a bigger prayer session with family members on her behalf and said I should visit her grave.
I hadn鈥檛 been to the grave since early 2023, but I was convinced the pictures and videos on my phone would be helpful. I was so wrong.
The day I went to the cemetery, I didn鈥檛 see any familiar faces. The workers at the security post seemed completely different, and when they asked what I was there for, I told them I was visiting my mum鈥檚 grave. They asked if I knew where it was, and I said yes.
To be honest, I wasn鈥檛 quite sure that I did.
A lot seemed to have changed in the cemetery鈥攖he place had been overrun by grass and weeds. But I wasn鈥檛 willing to admit to strangers that I was unsure of where my mother鈥檚 grave was. The mere thought of that admission made me ashamed.
So, with the pictures on my phone, I tasked myself with finding the grave. At least 80 per cent of the landmarks were still in place; the real problem was finding the particular line where her grave was. I couldn鈥檛 find any graves I鈥檇 photographed on my phone. Most of the headstones read 2024, and it didn鈥檛 seem like there was any grave of anyone who died within the last three years in sight.
I went on and on with the search, tiptoeing around graves and being careful not to step on those that had weakened with time. Being alone in that ocean of graves snapped something within me; I stopped searching and broke down in tears.
When it became clear that I didn鈥檛 know where the grave was, I called my aunt and asked when she last visited. She said she visited the grave two weeks back when she accompanied a friend to bury her mum. She also seemed surprised that I was there and asked why I didn鈥檛 mention I was coming since we were both at the prayer session the day before. I ignored the question and said we could come together the next time she planned to visit.
I didn鈥檛 tell her I had no idea where the grave was. She鈥檇 have made a drama of it.
Now, I鈥檓 counting down to the day we鈥檇 go together. But I can鈥檛 help feeling bad. This feeling is worse because I haven鈥檛 dreamt of my mum in a while. I feel like she鈥檚 mad at me.
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