I’ve been through too much already to be defeated by you.

She mumbled these words like a broken record, unconscious of the worried glances she was attracting. Those who could not hear her would assume she was close to the brink of insanity; while those who heard every single word she tried to utter, as quietly as possible, would conjure up different scenarios that might have led her to make such a statement.

She wondered how many of them believed they had struck gold with their assumptions. With a sad laugh, her eyes wrinkled with a smile and she discarded their undisguised curiosity. They would get nothing from me, she thought. Ward C was where she was supposed to be but here she sat, the waiting room at St. Patrick’s Hospital, waiting to be called.

She had always been an impatient person, always on the go, seeking some sort of thrill from life. Things had not gone according to ‘her’ plan. There had been a U-turn from hell, the moment she had given her whole life away, to HIM. God!

At this point, I believe you are among those making assumptions about this unknown figure. I reckon you have taken a halt at the word, God. Let me pull you back into this story by presenting to you my Sixty-year-old heroine. Her name is Jezebel, a name Bible readers would call unfortunate but a name of a woman I choose to publicize. And hooting her horn is what I choose to do.

Jezebel began her chant once again, I’ve been through too much already to be defeated by you, and the people around her with owl-like eyes began their favorite game of the moment, the guessing game. “What could she be referring to?” they wondered.

The majority of her unwanted fans believed she had a terminal illness while others thought she was crazy and needed to be transported to the mental ward with immediate effect. She was no mind-reader but she did know how to read facial expressions. Years of living with a daughter who chose to hate her had thought her that.

That daughter who had made it her life purpose to frustrate her mother for her lost childhood; these lost years had resulted from a wayward life Jezebel had adopted after losing the breadwinner to Cancer. She had been just twenty-three when her husband had died. She had been left to cater for her one-year-old daughter.

She had meant well during the early stage of widowhood but had gotten desperate to survive when the odds were not in her favor. Wrong choices had been made, relationships had gotten broken. This trail of hatred and ignorance had been adopted by her daughter and now her innocent granddaughter was suffering a generation trait of ignorance. She was lonely and learning how to survive on her own. Like mother, like daughter. But she could not survive anymore but was dying, her liver had failed her, poor Maro.

She wanted to mend the hearts she had broken and she wanted her family reunited. Mistakes she had made in the past had made her own daughter have a stone-cold heart. Now, Maro was laying numb on her sick bed, Ward C was what they called it, but her mother was nowhere to be found.

She knew she had to re-connect some broken hearts somehow. The hearts of her daughter’s and granddaughter’s. So, here she was, at the hospital’s reception, waiting to be called.

Jezebel had prayed and fasted and knew she was on the right path but fear was trying to take over. She looked down at the letters in her hand, addressed to her daughter and grand-daughter, her final words to them and she smiled.
As she got up on her feet upon hearing her name, she prepared in her heart and hoped and prayed to be forgiven some day. She was going in there physically, hoping to save Maro by donating her liver to her but she knew it wouldn’t matter if God did not make a way but that’s no problem, He always does.

She took one step at a time and with every step she took, she knew she had chased away the fear. If her purpose on earth had been this, then she was glad she would take her final breath in peace.

For she knew deep down in her heart that she had been through too much already to be defeated by FEAR.


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