When regret speaks too late…
You have only one mother in this life. When she’s gone, no amount of tears can bring back the moments you neglected… no amount of wealth can fill the void her love once filled.”
Chimdike grew up in a humble village of Okaukwu. He was the only child of Mama Chimdike, a woman whose heart was larger than her pocket. Life didn’t deal her a fair hand.
When Chimdike was just 8 years old, tragedy struck. His father passed away unexpectedly and his father’s family turned their backs on them. They seized every property, every farmland, every belongings, leaving mother and child with nothing but their faith and resilience.
Mama Chimdike was no ordinary woman. She was like the proverbial “Ji ahuyere na oku o na epu ome” (A yam that is being roasted-yet it germinates). She carried the weight of two parents with grace.
She became a nanny in town, waking before dawn to clean other people’s houses. She sold akara by the roadside, the aroma announcing her presence long before dawn. She worked on people’s farms under the scorching sun, her back bent, her hands blistered — all to send her only child, Chimdike, to school.
She often whispered prayers into the night: “God, if I can just see my son wear a suit and work in a big office one day, my heart will rest.”
God heard her silent prayers.
Chimdike excelled in school. He was brilliant, focused, determined — at least at first. Mama Chimdike would attend PTA meetings with her worn-out wrapper, standing tall among parents who drove flashy cars. Her pride wasn’t in wealth but in her son’s shining report cards.
Years later, Chimdike graduated from university. Through a connection and his good grades, he landed a job with a reputable oil company in Port Harcourt.
The day his employment letter arrived, Mama Chimdike danced like David in the Bible. Tears of joy streamed down her face. She slaughtered the only chicken she had, inviting neighbors to celebrate. “O bu so Chineke mere ya” (It is God who did it) she shouted, her hands lifted to the heavens.
As the city lights embraced Chimdike, so did pride. Success came and with it came distraction.
He changed his wardrobe, his accent, his circle of friends. Clubs replaced church. Girls replaced his mother’s voice. Expensive drinks replaced his mother’s akara.
Mama Chimdike would call late at night, just to hear his voice.
“My son, kedu ka i mere? Have you eaten?”
“Mummy, I’m busy. I’ll call you later.”
Later rarely came.
She sent messages through his uncle, pleading, “Tell Chimdike I miss him.” His uncle would shake his head, “He says he’s busy.”
Then came the sickness. Mama Chimdike ’s health began to fail. She grew weak, her legs swollen, her breathing labored. Still, she waited for her son.
Her brother called Chimdike one evening, “My son, your mother is very sick. She’s been crying to see you. Please come and take her to the hospital.”
Chimdike sighed, holding his glass of expensive wine. “Uncle, I have a tight schedule this week. I’ll come on Saturday.”
Saturday never came.
Days passed. Mama Chimdike’s condition worsened. She called her son herself, her voice frail “Chimdike… biko… come and see me. My heart longs to see you,” but his phone was on voicemail. He was out, partying with friends at a beach resort.
That night, as the moon hung low over the village, Mama Chimdike whispered her final words to her brother, “Tell Chimdike… that I forgave him. Tell him… I never stopped loving him. I waited… but he didn’t come.” As our fathers will always say “Nne adighi aju nwa ya”(A mother never rejects her child). This emphasizes on the unconditional acceptance and selflessness of a mother's love.
She drew her last breath in quiet pain — not just from illness, but from the heartbreak of neglect.
When the news reached Chimdike, the world stopped. His wine glass slipped from his hand and shattered on the tiled floor. His knees grew weak. He rushed back home but it was too late.
The sight of his mother’s lifeless body shattered every wall of pride he had built. He wailed like a child, clutching her cold hands, whispering, “Mama, I’m sorry… Mama, please wake up… Mama, I didn’t mean to… I was coming…”
Mama Chimdike didn’t answer.
He replayed every missed call. Every ignored message. Every broken promise. He remembered the akara she sold, the farms she worked, the sacrifices she made — all for him. Regret spoke too late. The word of God said in Proverbs 19:26 “He who assaults his father or drives away his mother is a son who brings shame and disgrace” and Proverbs 23:22 said “Listen to your father who begot you and do not despise your mother when she is old.
You have only one mother — cherish her while she’s still here.
No wealth can replace her prayers and sacrifices.
Regret is louder at the grave than gratitude spoken in life.
Love, respect and honor your mother while you can.
Call your mother today.
Send that message.
Visit her.
Hug her.
Apologize if you’ve neglected her.
Don’t wait until you’re standing over a coffin to say what should have been said in person.
Morals of the Story:
No matter how successful you become, never forget the hands that wiped your tears, the voice that prayed for you in the dark
The heart that beat for you before the world even knew your name.
Love her, respect her and celebrate her while she still breathes.
Follow@Elizabeth Akudo for more inspiring true-life stories
© 2025 Elizabeth Akudo. All Rights Reserved. #MotherLove #TrueLifeStory #NigerianStorytelling #FamilyValues #HonourYourParents #EmotionalStories #BibleWisdom #IgboAdage #ChimdikeStory #RespectYourMother #LifeLessons #Inspiration #FollowElizabethAkudo
You have only one mother in this life. When she’s gone, no amount of tears can bring back the moments you neglected… no amount of wealth can fill the void her love once filled.”
Chimdike grew up in a humble village of Okaukwu. He was the only child of Mama Chimdike, a woman whose heart was larger than her pocket. Life didn’t deal her a fair hand.
When Chimdike was just 8 years old, tragedy struck. His father passed away unexpectedly and his father’s family turned their backs on them. They seized every property, every farmland, every belongings, leaving mother and child with nothing but their faith and resilience.
Mama Chimdike was no ordinary woman. She was like the proverbial “Ji ahuyere na oku o na epu ome” (A yam that is being roasted-yet it germinates). She carried the weight of two parents with grace.
She became a nanny in town, waking before dawn to clean other people’s houses. She sold akara by the roadside, the aroma announcing her presence long before dawn. She worked on people’s farms under the scorching sun, her back bent, her hands blistered — all to send her only child, Chimdike, to school.
She often whispered prayers into the night: “God, if I can just see my son wear a suit and work in a big office one day, my heart will rest.”
God heard her silent prayers.
Chimdike excelled in school. He was brilliant, focused, determined — at least at first. Mama Chimdike would attend PTA meetings with her worn-out wrapper, standing tall among parents who drove flashy cars. Her pride wasn’t in wealth but in her son’s shining report cards.
Years later, Chimdike graduated from university. Through a connection and his good grades, he landed a job with a reputable oil company in Port Harcourt.
The day his employment letter arrived, Mama Chimdike danced like David in the Bible. Tears of joy streamed down her face. She slaughtered the only chicken she had, inviting neighbors to celebrate. “O bu so Chineke mere ya” (It is God who did it) she shouted, her hands lifted to the heavens.
As the city lights embraced Chimdike, so did pride. Success came and with it came distraction.
He changed his wardrobe, his accent, his circle of friends. Clubs replaced church. Girls replaced his mother’s voice. Expensive drinks replaced his mother’s akara.
Mama Chimdike would call late at night, just to hear his voice.
“My son, kedu ka i mere? Have you eaten?”
“Mummy, I’m busy. I’ll call you later.”
Later rarely came.
She sent messages through his uncle, pleading, “Tell Chimdike I miss him.” His uncle would shake his head, “He says he’s busy.”
Then came the sickness. Mama Chimdike ’s health began to fail. She grew weak, her legs swollen, her breathing labored. Still, she waited for her son.
Her brother called Chimdike one evening, “My son, your mother is very sick. She’s been crying to see you. Please come and take her to the hospital.”
Chimdike sighed, holding his glass of expensive wine. “Uncle, I have a tight schedule this week. I’ll come on Saturday.”
Saturday never came.
Days passed. Mama Chimdike’s condition worsened. She called her son herself, her voice frail “Chimdike… biko… come and see me. My heart longs to see you,” but his phone was on voicemail. He was out, partying with friends at a beach resort.
That night, as the moon hung low over the village, Mama Chimdike whispered her final words to her brother, “Tell Chimdike… that I forgave him. Tell him… I never stopped loving him. I waited… but he didn’t come.” As our fathers will always say “Nne adighi aju nwa ya”(A mother never rejects her child). This emphasizes on the unconditional acceptance and selflessness of a mother's love.
She drew her last breath in quiet pain — not just from illness, but from the heartbreak of neglect.
When the news reached Chimdike, the world stopped. His wine glass slipped from his hand and shattered on the tiled floor. His knees grew weak. He rushed back home but it was too late.
The sight of his mother’s lifeless body shattered every wall of pride he had built. He wailed like a child, clutching her cold hands, whispering, “Mama, I’m sorry… Mama, please wake up… Mama, I didn’t mean to… I was coming…”
Mama Chimdike didn’t answer.
He replayed every missed call. Every ignored message. Every broken promise. He remembered the akara she sold, the farms she worked, the sacrifices she made — all for him. Regret spoke too late. The word of God said in Proverbs 19:26 “He who assaults his father or drives away his mother is a son who brings shame and disgrace” and Proverbs 23:22 said “Listen to your father who begot you and do not despise your mother when she is old.
You have only one mother — cherish her while she’s still here.
No wealth can replace her prayers and sacrifices.
Regret is louder at the grave than gratitude spoken in life.
Love, respect and honor your mother while you can.
Call your mother today.
Send that message.
Visit her.
Hug her.
Apologize if you’ve neglected her.
Don’t wait until you’re standing over a coffin to say what should have been said in person.
Morals of the Story:
No matter how successful you become, never forget the hands that wiped your tears, the voice that prayed for you in the dark
The heart that beat for you before the world even knew your name.
Love her, respect her and celebrate her while she still breathes.
Follow@Elizabeth Akudo for more inspiring true-life stories
© 2025 Elizabeth Akudo. All Rights Reserved. #MotherLove #TrueLifeStory #NigerianStorytelling #FamilyValues #HonourYourParents #EmotionalStories #BibleWisdom #IgboAdage #ChimdikeStory #RespectYourMother #LifeLessons #Inspiration #FollowElizabethAkudo
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