Since I knew what was right from wrong while growing up as a child, I have always noticed that my father despises me. There is nothing I do that pleases him. He has five children and I am the first son of the family. My mother, oh my dear mother, has always shown me so much love despite all the humiliation she suffered in the hands of my father because of me.
I could remember when I fell seriously ill when I was about 10 years old and the doctor said I needed an urgent operation within three days in order to save my life. “Anthony needs an urgent surgery to save his life. It will cost N65,000,” said Dr. Mark. While I was lying down on the hospital bed writhing and groaning in so much pains, my father walked in, looked at me sternly and said, “Anthony, it is better you die. I will not drop a dime for your operation.” Immediately he stormed out of the room like a wrestling champion. My mother ran after him and in less than five minutes, she came in crying and she said to me, “My son don’t worry I will not allow you die. I will raise the money no matter what it will cost me.”
My mother had to rally round to look for the money. She sold some of her most cherished personal possessions just to ensure I had the operation. And true to her words, I was operated upon on the morning of the third day. Even after the operation, my father did not visit me even for once at the hospital. After I was discharged, he never came near me at home. He does not even answer to my greetings. I would say I survived staying in that house because of the love of my mother and siblings because my father made my growing up a living hell. He looked at me one Saturday afternoon after my secondary education and said, “You will never make it in life. I hate you, you murderer.”
I finally gained admission into one of the polytechnics and studied Business Administration at the Ordinary National Diploma (OND) level where I practically trained myself through school. I washed other students’ clothes and did other menial jobs just to ensure I completed my OND. However, my mother supported me in the little way she could while my father trained my three other siblings in the university.
Today, we are all doing well even though my younger siblings are doing far better than me. Whenever I give my father money, he tells me he does not need my money. “Anthony, I don’t need your money. My children give me more than enough. I don’t need your money or any other thing from you, murderer.”
For now, my mother is so excited whenever I give her anything, whether money, gifts or whatever. This makes me feel so good and wanted. I could no longer comprehend why my own father keeps calling me a murderer. I knew it was time to get answers and so I had to confront my mother.
I had gone to visit her at home one Sunday evening. She was outside receiving fresh air as usual when I walked up to her and popped the question, “Mother, who did I kill? Daddy keeps calling me a murderer. Why does he hate me so much? Please tell me the truth,” I pleaded. She looked at me with tearful eyes and said, “I knew you would ask me this question one day, my son. Grab a chair and sit beside. I will tell you the truth,” she said.
The woman I have called mother for almost 30 years told me she was not my biological mother. “I was shocked to my bone marrow. I have heard how step mothers maltreat their step children but she was so different.” Narrating my story, she said, “Anthony dear, I am not your biological mother and I prayed that you would never find out. But your father’s behaviour towards you has been terrible, I am very sorry about that. Your mother died while giving birth to you. The doctors said she died from excessive bleeding but because of the love your father had for her, he believed you are a wicked child who killed his own mother. Since then, he vowed to make your life miserable as long as he lives. He married me when you were six months old and I have taken care of you as my first child. I vowed to fulfill my motherly roles to you as my son and I thank God, He has really helped me,” she revealed. She hugged me and told me she believes strongly that I have a very bright future; however, I should not have any grudges against my father no matter what he does and have done to me. “Mother, you are really God-sent. I never would have suspected that you are not my biological mother. Thank you so much for all your love, care and affection. May God continue to bless you. I will continue to love and take care of you as long as I live,” I pledged.
About three months ago, my father was diagnosed with kidney problem. He has been on dialysis ever since and the family has spent so much money. However, the doctors stated that he needs an urgent kidney transplant. They have looked for suitable donors but to no avail. My mother held a meeting with us and pleaded that we all go for screening as one of us may save his life. “My children please finding a suitable donor is taking longer than expected. I want to plead with every one of us to go for screening to ascertain whose kidney matches your father’s. Perhaps one of us may be a match and save his life,” she pleaded.
Well, we all reluctantly went for the screening and fortunately or unfortunately, the result showed that I can donate my kidney. I didn’t know whether to cry or be happy. My mother said to me, “Anthony, my son I will not make any decision for you. Just follow your heart. Whatever decision you make, you will always remain my son and I will always love you.”
I heard that when he was told I was the only one who could save his life, he said, “A murderer’s kidney? I have to decide if I want it or not.” God, I know my father hates me but I never knew it was this much. Even on his dying bed when I have what could save his life, he still wants to decide whether or not to accept my kidney. I am so confused.
I feel for my father but, although, he is lying critically ill on a hospital bed, he has made it clear to me on several occasions that he does not want my money or anything that comes from me. How am I sure he would want my kidney even if I decide to save his life?
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