Panic that can make you black out. Guilt in unrelenting waves. Fear in dizzying tides. Deluge of anger at myself and my husband for our ignorance. How could we have allowed it to happen? We are both highly educated, how come we did not know? Doubt, even in positive times. Helplessness, resignation and grief at what seems to be the generally expected fatal outcome. Copious tears, enough to form many rivers.

These were my companions for decades. How can a mother not go through all these in situations of pain and panic, when sometimes your child is hovering between life and death or a form of permanent physical, mental or emotional damage?

My second child was diagnosed with sickle cell disorder when he was two years old and we have been on the battle field ever since. I became the typical mother hen, hovering over and around him, seeing real and imagined symptoms of pain, crisis and disaster in his every complaint. Trips to hospitals became the norm. In my love, fear and ignorance, I thought that, as his mother, the battle to keep him healthy and protect him was mine and nothing else mattered. Many of our important decisions were based on his health status. He was not allowed to go to a boarding school or go to a university that I could not get to within thirty minutes or a maximum of one hour.

I would always cry to God for help … after I had done the running around and the emotional roller-coaster. For a very long time, I unconsciously relegated God to the position of a back stage helper because I was too busy caring for my son. The burden only got heavier.  

That was then.

God graciously opened my eyes to His pre-eminence in everything. I learnt to cry to Him alone. My helplessness became total dependence on Him. What did I receive in return? Peace of mind, that when He is in charge, absolutely nothing can go wrong. Hope, that in every situation, all is well. I have the added benefit of my cry being supported and uplifted by my whole family, friends and church. I have released my clutch on my son, enough to let him go outside Nigeria to study, without my relocating with him. He is thriving, with God as his mainstay.  

I have learnt a few things about a mother’s cry to God on her children.

A mother’s cry is powerful. It is a potent weapon to get God to act.

A mother’s cry does not have to be a solo performance. She can be genuinely uplifted by others.

A mother’s cry never ends. I am still crying to God for my son’s divine healing in all spheres of his life, for my other children and for so many other things.

A mother’s cry is varied. I cry to God when crisis, worry, confusion, fear and despair hit. I cry to Him with joy, praise, gratitude and hope. I cry to Him for simply being alive, for having the life and family that I have and especially for this my son because I strongly believe he is for God’s signs and wonders.