Take Care Of The Ones You Love

I saw my mom in the kitchen the other day when I went to visit. At first, it looked like a nostalgic sight I had seen all through my infant years—an altogether clockwork movement.

She would wake up first, boil water for the whole house, and supervise us taking our baths in turns while she contemplated what we would eat for breakfast.

Then, after we were done, a meal would magically appear packed in our lunchboxes as we dispersed to our various schools.

When I held her hand after we had an awkward hug, it felt gentle, a stark contrast to the harder version that slapped me all through my infant years. My mom didn’t beat me growing up; all the times she touched me felt like an attempted murder.

Innysblog — Photo by Anastasia Shuraeva on Pexels.com

Now, I see a nicer version of her with my baby sister: fewer threats, more “I love yous,” and, surprisingly, more apologies. That last one shocked me.

Age is a silent thief.

It steals time, youth, and familiarity, leaving us with these stark, sometimes uncomfortable revelations.

Nobody will tell you this, but you are gradually becoming your parents, and they are becoming an older, weaker, and more silent version of what you used to know.

Look at you, doing the things they used to do. You now have a pile of unreplied messages on your social media because you are “too busy.” You now make plans with other adults that never happen.

Your agemates are intentionally having babies, and you are going there with gifts because “it’s somehow if you go empty-handed.”

We are the adults now. This is the scariest revelation I’ve had in a while.

I see my parents differently now. Heck, I see my friends differently now. Responsibilities have made us so different. The random bonds we used to share have now been replaced by a scavenging habit of only finding opportunities that either give us more money or help us progress in what we have identified as “moving forward.”

You’re too busy—too busy to even notice your parents are growing older, your friends are fighting battles, and the people you love need you.

We are all running on a treadmill of obligations, and it can be hard to step off and just be present for the people we love.

This continues until you get a call that your dad is sick, or your mom says her last words, and you don’t get a chance to hear them.

God forbid all you have to offer is finance.

God forbid that all you give your friends is money. God forbid if all you are chasing is money. There is a life after wealth, and that life consists of everything you are taking for granted now.

Money doesn’t make you a better friend; it gets you richer friends—new ones, the ones that can bring more wealth for you. You will still neglect the people you are too busy for now if they don’t make it to your level. You will still just send money to your parents, this time more, when all they want in old age is to see their children around them.

Chasing wealth at the expense of these relationships is a trade that leaves us empty, no matter how full our bank accounts become.

But what do I know?

You only listen to successful people, people like Otedola and Dangote, who probably make more time for their family and friends than you do.

Go on, go and buy their book and listen to all the podcasts that will get you “the bag.” After all, we are holding you back, and when you do get the bag, you’ll make up for lost time.

I pray God gives us all success, because adulthood is a “throat goat”; it sucks hard.

Please, I beg you, see your friends with a different set of eyes, eyes that emanate love, and show those you love that you care.

Use presence as a currency when you can’t use money, and appreciate those who try to be there even if they don’t have cash. We have monetised everything to a sickening level. Ewww!

I am begging you: take care of those you love before time takes them from you. Don’t cry at the grave of someone you had the chance to show love to.

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