It started with stomach pain.
She said it was nothing, just stress, but I could tell something wasn't right. The pain grew worse until she could barely eat. I begged her to rest, but she smiled weakly and said, "If I rest, who will feed you all?"
We went from one hospital to another, hoping for good news. But the word we feared most came — cancer. The doctor said it quietly, but it echoed in my soul.
I watched her fade slowly. Her once vibrant body turned fragile, her laughter replaced with groans. Still, she prayed. Still, she told me to have faith. I tried to believe, but deep down, fear began to grow roots in me.
The night she died, it rained heavily. I remember holding her hand and whispering, "Please don't go, Mama." She smiled faintly and said, "God will take care of you." Then she closed her eyes… and the world went silent.