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grandparents | Zikoko!
  • I Tell My Children to Let Me Die if I Ever Fall Terminally Ill

    I Tell My Children to Let Me Die if I Ever Fall Terminally Ill

    Navigating loss is never easy. No matter how old our parents get, we’re never really ready for when they’ll leave the earth. I was discussing this with a friend when they revealed their grandmother’s rather strange request: She didn’t want anyone to spend on medical bills if she ever became seriously ill. 

    Intrigued, I got on the phone with mama’s carer, and with her help, got mama (75) to share her reasons.

    As told to Boluwatife

    Image designed by Freepik

    My children think old age has affected some parts of my brain, so I make sure to repeat the same statement at least once a month: You people should let me die if I ever fall terminally ill.

    I’m 75 years old, and in my lifetime, I’ve seen friends and family members battle sicknesses for years. They pile up huge medical bills for their family, and eventually still die. The death that strengthened my resolve not to go the same route was my husband’s.

    He died in 2018 at 71, and he was in and out of the hospital for four years before that. 

    His health battle started with a mini-stroke in 2014. He was admitted, and doctors said, “Oh. Thank God, it’s nothing serious.” That was until they found cancer in his chest during routine scans. Again, they said it wasn’t too serious because it hadn’t advanced much yet.

    A year and several chemotherapy sessions later, the doctors had changed mouth. Something about the tumours moving to other body parts. My children gathered money and took him overseas for better treatment. No one told me how much it cost, but I could see in their eyes that they were stretched thin financially and emotionally.

    About three years after the initial diagnosis, my husband was declared cancer-free. We did thanksgiving at church and even gave away food items to less privileged people in gratitude. 

    Six months later, my husband slumped. The cancer was back, and it caused his kidneys to fail. He had to include dialysis to his long list of medical procedures. This time, my children came to ask me if their father had any money saved up somewhere. 

    He passed away soon after. I was heartbroken. After all we went through, it seemed like we only delayed the inevitable. I don’t want to put my children through the same thing again.

    So, I’ve decided I’ll die at home. I take blood pressure medication and pain relievers for my arthritis, but if I ever develop a terminal illness or a sickness that requires long-term treatment, I’ve told them not to take me to the hospital and just care for me at home. I’ve lived long enough already. I’d rather die than become a financial burden. If they go into debt and sell their properties to keep me alive, but I still die due to old age, what use would it have been? Instead of going through surgery or chemotherapy, isn’t it better for me to cross over peacefully?

    I think my children still don’t take me seriously even though I’ve been saying this since their father died, but I won’t stop reminding them. Maybe the next step should be to tell them that my spirit won’t let them rest if they make me suffer my last days in a hospital. 

    I’m not scared of death, and they shouldn’t be too. Everyone has to go at one point, and I prefer to go in a way that won’t burden anyone. I’ve had the privilege of seeing my children marry and become successful, with their own children. What more does anyone want?


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  • My Grandkids Are My Second Shot at Parenting the Right Way

    My Grandkids Are My Second Shot at Parenting the Right Way

    If there’s one thing common to most races, it’s that grandparents tend to be “softer” and more caring with their grandchildren than they were with their children. There are several notions as to why this is the case, but I spoke to Sophia* (53) for this story, and I found her reason quite interesting.

    She’s a grandmother of two, and according to her, her grandchildren are an opportunity for her to undo her own parenting mistakes.

    This is Sophia’s story, as told to Boluwatife

    Image designed by Freepik

    Parenting was hardly talked about in my younger days. 

    People talked about having children, the number you had and the usual complaint about stubborn children. But there was nothing like sitting down to discuss parenting methods. We all had the same method: Discipline and pray for the best.

    I had my first daughter, Adaeze*, out of wedlock when I was 22, but I already knew I wouldn’t marry her father. He was a lazy man, and our fights were legendary. Anytime we argued, you could hear our voices two streets away. I was a somewhat successful okrika trader then, and I decided I wouldn’t tie my life to someone like that and probably end up breaking each other’s heads. I dropped Adaeze with my mother and continued my hustle.

    My mum passed when Adaeze was three years old, so I had to bring her to live with me. I thought it’d be easier to take care of her since she wasn’t a baby anymore. I was wrong.

    Adaeze was an extroverted, inquisitive child. The type we used to call “radio without battery”. My God, Adaeze could talk your ear off. She wanted to know everything and never sat down in one place for two seconds. She was also extremely playful. If you asked her not to touch something, she’d reply, “Why?” To me, it felt like she was questioning my authority, and I’d respond with beatings and punishments. 

    Whenever she started asking her one million questions about how the people on the TV climbed inside, I’d scream at her to keep quiet and let me rest. I’d never witnessed children pestering adults with questions, especially after a long day, and I thought I needed to “train” her to be more respectful and well-behaved.


    RELATED: I Had a “Spoilt” Upbringing, by Nigerian Standards


    I got married in 1997 and had two more children in quick succession. I basically replicated my parenting style on my two younger children. They weren’t as extroverted as Adaeze, but they also had the usual childlike exuberance, and I was determined to ensure they were well-behaved too.

    By the time Adaze turned seven, she had become quieter and withdrawn. I thought she was finally growing up, so I didn’t mind. She was still doing well in school, so I thought I’d succeeded in training her.

    I didn’t realise just how much damage had been done until she became a teenager. Those were tough years. She was a moody teen who rebelled a lot. I’d flog till I was tired, but it was like it gave her the energy to rebel even more. She’d hang out with boys and sneak out of the house while we slept. 

    My younger children weren’t as rebellious, but I felt so disconnected from them. Anytime I came home from work, I’d notice they’d immediately leave the sitting room to look for something to do. I was the wicked parent, and they were closer to their dad. 

    One day, I saw Adaeze’s diary hidden in the toilet, where she wrote about hating me and wishing to find her real father, and my heart just broke. I still screamed at her that day for being ungrateful upon all my sacrifices for her. I just didn’t know how else to handle it. I didn’t even know how to hug my children and tell them I loved them.

    Adaeze and I maintained this fractured mother-daughter relationship till she married and had her own child in 2016. I think there’s something about becoming a mother that makes you want to be closer to your own mother. I’m grateful for that, because I honestly thought we’d never be close.

    We have a better relationship now, but I can’t rewind time and undo my mistakes. I’m not even sure how to go about talking through how my parenting affected her. I’m still trying to manage my relationship with my other children. It’s not bad, but it’s not great either. We hardly talk unless I call them, and even then, it’s like I’m disturbing them. I don’t want to be old, and my children have no interest in visiting me because there’s nothing to even talk about. 

    I’m now a grandmother of two — Adaeze had another child in 2019 — and it feels like my second opportunity to be a better mother. It may be too late to be a mother my children can confide in, but at least, I can try with my grandkids. 

    Adaeze usually teases me that I indulge the kids and don’t allow her to scold them, but she doesn’t get it. How will she understand why I can’t afford to miss this opportunity to be a gentler and more open parent? 


    *Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.

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