My mum, Mrs. Asabe Simon Bivan, passed to glory on June 28, 2020, my birthday.
Typical of the writer she was, she probably needed to leave us with a story.
It was 8am, or thereabout, when I got the call from my elder brother, Abel. “Mum’s struggling to breathe,” he said. “They are giving her oxygen now. Please, pray.”
“I will,” I replied, my heart beating like an entire band was there. Then I looked around, at the dining area where a cake sat, yet to be cut, specially made by my loving wife, Winnie. It was June 28, my birthday.
We headed for church nevertheless. It was to be my first official church service since it was re-opened after the lockdown due to COVID-19. In the car, we were praying. The same was the case in church where I paced, unable to stay in one place, until the service began. I was coming out of the rest room when the call came. This time it was my elder sister, Asham. I knew the drill, have read about how those who deliver bad news start. “Mum has gone, right?” I asked. “That’s what I am saying,” she said.
Few feet away from the rest room, I broke down, squatted and wept. Then I picked myself up. How was I to tell my wife what happened while the service was on? I decided to let her worship in peace. But it didn’t work out. When I came out the next time, she was outside waiting. She said her spirit told her something was wrong.
You see, mum was an English teacher and an unpublished children’s writer. Her stories inspired me, and somehow, deep within me, I had always wanted to become an accomplished writer just to make her proud. Today, the desktop computer her daughter in-law Simi got for her sits unused. She had always been used to writing by hand, and I planned to do all the typing. One of her stories, the one I remember clearly, was inspired by her childhood, when they climbed a particular rock and glided down in Fadan Kagoma, Kaduna State, her home town. If I recall correctly, it was a favourite of the US-based writing school she attended back in the day. They always sent hard cover books about writing via courier to her and we both couldn’t wait to read them. Years after, mum would always give me writing advice based on what they taught her, that writing takes time, and a writer should never be in too much of a hurry to get published. Polishing one’s work and editing till one is satisfied is key.
There is a particular couch mum likes to sit on by the right side of the living room. I know anytime we visit, many of us are likely to look in that direction expecting to see you seated, there. We will miss chatting with her and catching up on things. It was always her way to fill us in on things we had missed while away, particularly those of us who are no longer based in Kaduna.
Early in the morning of July 2, when she was to be buried, I prepared my mind. I hate seeing dead bodies and totally avoid mortuaries, but this time around I knew I had to face mum’s remains for closure. So, at the mortuary in Barau Dikko Hospital where I walked in with Abel, we stood above her corpse. Then he said, “this doesn’t look like mum.”
“Of course, she’s not the one. She isn’t here,” I told him. At that moment, I felt an overwhelming peace envelop me. There I was, looking down at mum’s remains, and what I felt in my heart was an explosive feeling of joy. That was when it hit me that mum had made it to heaven. I can’t explain it, but only God could have filled my heart with joy at such a time, after all, I believe, unlike happiness which is triggered by an event, joy is poured into our hearts by God, notwithstanding the occasion. You can be sick and experience it, and you can lose a loved one and be swallowed by an unexplainable peace. Long story short, we held what used to be our mum’s body alongside others and put it in the coffin. None of us shed a tear. But of course, we had both cried before then, after all, it’s an essential part of the healing process.
Earlier, I had asked God two major questions after mum passed: one, why did mum have to suffer from illness for over a year and then die? Two, why didn’t God give us a testimony? We wanted to tell the story of how she was terribly sick, and yet beat it, the devil and his forces, coming out strong. But there was no testimony or victory to brag about, I thought. But the answers to my questions came sooner than I expected.
A seed was sown in my heart when one of my closest friends, ‘Sunny’, told me that those who suffer from protracted illness before they die have a unique opportunity to make peace with God. From that instant, it dawned on me that mum had enough time to align with God, even though she paid a heavy price by suffering. Then Jesus’ suffering and death on the cross quickly came to my mind. If Jesus could suffer that much, then we couldn’t be immune from suffering too. I recalled how I read the Bible aloud to mum about a week before her death, and how Winnie and I prayed and worshipped with her while she lay in pain on her hospital bed. I saw her eyes and the movement of her lips and heard how she begged to go home. All that suffering gone, because she is now in heaven. No longer will the devil have a chance at her, to make her sick or stumble in her relationship with God.
Alas, mum has won the ultimate victory. She has made it to heaven. We may have wanted a different kind of testimony, but the greater testimony is that she rests in the Lord, and this I am a hundred percent sure of. This is what should give us joy and reassure us that we will see her soon when we stay true to God.
Also, we may have wanted to brag to the devil and his forces, but even Jesus didn’t visit his persecutors when he resurrected. He showed himself to his disciples, those who loved him. So, we have the ultimate victory and this is uplifting. We have won the battle. After all, isn’t the devil’s aim to take us to hell?
We all think of Dad and how he must be missing mum more than any one of us, having been married to her for about fifty years. Then, of course, there’s Pae, who misses her late husband, Sam, and now mum. But we will all be fine, because mum is fine.
During the burial preparation, I was given charge of handling the printing of the programme. Unfortunately, it wasn’t an excellent work and some tributes were missing. Below is the one by Aunt Salome Daudu, mum’s younger sister. I reckoned it would be a good way to close this tribute.
My dearest sister. Your death was a big blow. A rude reminder that life is very short. You have played your part and gone from this sinful world. May God help us to be ready since none of us is going to live forever. To say you will be missed is an understatement. But what can I say? Goodbye sweet sister. Rest on with our Lord, till we meet to part no more.
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