Mother Gold: The unyielding faith, silent suffering, and unseen strength of woman who gave her all

By Suliah Lawal

Depression is often called the silent killer, a quiet, creeping shadow that dismantles even the strongest of minds. For Kelvin, a young doctor-in-training, it came in the devastating form of watching his beloved mother, the source of his strength, sacrifice, and sense of purpose, slowly succumb to illness.

Julie, affectionately known as Mother Gold, was a nurse and mother of five, respected not only for her professional dedication but for the unyielding love and responsibility she carried for her family. 

She worked tirelessly, managing a small chemist (pharmacy) while fulfilling long nursing shifts. At a time when civil servants were unpaid and essential services were scarce, no electricity, no running water, no food she never faltered. Mother Gold became a symbol of resilience in a university community where many were drowning in debt and despair.

While others parked their Mercedes-Benz cars and trekked with weary legs, she was famously known as a “professional walker.” Every day, except Sundays which she devoted wholly to her Christian faith she walked to her store with quiet resolve.

Her husband, Emenike, was laid-back, often content with the mantra “all conditions are permanent.” But Mother Gold challenged that inertia. 

She relocated the family from a rural village to the university campus, expanding her chemist business in the process. Even when her husband resisted with quarrels or sarcasm, accusing her of making “chicken change” (petty cash), she would laugh it off: “Umu nwoke adiegwu men are finished,” she'd tease.

Her children adored and revered her. They knew she was the reason they had hope. Her salary and modest shop funded their education, dreams, and survival. Despite the odds, she sent all her children to university — a feat of courage and determination.

Before each child embarked on the National Youth Service Corps (NYSC), she would hand them a Bible and say, “Now you are grown. I can no longer make decisions for you. But make sure you do the right thing, and remember that HIV/AIDS is real. Please, my child, walk in the light of God.”

In August 2011, Mother Gold was diagnosed with cancer. The news shattered the family. Kelvin, her youngest, abandoned his pharmacy internship to care for her in the hospital. What followed was an agonising eight-month period filled with uncertainty, hospital visits, and deep emotional toll.

Kelvin, unable to comprehend why a woman so faithful and selfless could suffer so intensely, spiralled into depression. He experienced severe reflux, persistent coughing, and burning chest pains. Multiple scans, tests, and treatments brought no relief. Eventually, an endoscopy revealed the condition: GERD (Gastroesophageal Reflux Disease), a chronic illness that could lead to cancer if untreated.

Terrified, Kelvin changed his lifestyle completely. He gave up alcohol, switched to a strict diet, and lost nearly 24 kilogrammes within months. He began to heal physically but his mother worsened.

Her cancer advanced into a rare endocrine tumour. Her body became bloated and frail. Her voice trembled with prayer and grief: “God, I served you day and night. Why can’t I stay a little and reap the fruit of my labour?”

Mother Gold was flown to London for treatment. There, a doctor told her she had only six weeks to live. Boldly, she replied, “You are not my God.” The doctor was stunned by her resolve, and treatment began. Initial rounds of chemotherapy gave hope she responded well at first  but her condition soon deteriorated.

Back in Nigeria, her final days were filled with prayer, tears, and family. At her mother’s funeral, she collapsed during the outing Mass but was revived through prayers from her sister, a pastor. Upon regaining consciousness, she cried, “Tuo Jesu Igwe! Hail Christ the King!”

Later that day, she asked her son to take her home. As they drove, she requested groundnuts and told her children she loved them. She gave one daughter a soft kiss on the cheek. Moments later, held like a baby in her daughter’s arms, she passed away peacefully at 5:20 p.m.

Kelvin could not scream or cry. None of them did. They believed she had died the death of a saint.

Weeks later, Mother Gold appeared to Kelvin in a dream, smiling in gold anklets. She asked if everyone was well. He tried to call his siblings, but she began to drift away. He woke up on the floor, having crawled toward the door in his sleep, chasing the image of his mother.

In that moment, Kelvin knew. She was at peace. She was safe. His depression faded. Two years later, his father Emenike passed on  peacefully, just as she had.

Mother Gold may be gone, but her light endures in the lives she shaped, the faith she held, and the love that never left.