Some days, you would wake up and you would instantly sense that today isn’t going to be a good day. Today was one of those days. I wasn’t feeling good for even a second; my mind was drowning in an ocean of endless thoughts.
Mother looked frail that day, and it bothered me on so many levels. She wasn’t the agile Pamela Cole she used to be. The one that yelled at me and Tella whenever we did something out of line, the one that rebelled against her father to marry the man she loved, the one that tried to protect her children against the sour taste of life. . . I couldn’t sleep.
I was restless on the bed — thrashing and rolling to this side or that side. . . I would close my eyes for some seconds, and I would envision her dry lips quivering as she said those words: I’m dying. The realisation that the words could actually come to pass made my heart sink. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing another parent. Not when it was under my control. I just needed money to pay for her treatment. I could do this, and she’d stay alive, I assured myself.