By: Sueann Wickham
May brings with it a cherished annual occasion: Mother’s Day. It’s a time when the world collectively pauses to honour the irreplaceable women who have nurtured, guided, and loved us unconditionally.
Motherhood is seen as a tapestry of joy, love, and unwavering resilience and for my mother, Suela Wickham, the path to becoming a mother was an arduous journey marked by challenges and triumphs.
Born in the countryside on February 4, 1974, as the youngest of 10 siblings, she often yearned for a family of her own. My birth in 2001 marked a significant moment in my mother’s life. At 27 years old, she welcomed me as her first child, a culmination of hope and longing after a journey filled with uncertainty.
Hearing her recount the experience, it was evident that the joy of my arrival was tempered by the shadows of past doubts. You see, there was a time when she doubted her ability to conceive, a poignant contrast to an era when prolific childbirth was commonplace. My grandmother, for instance, bore the weight of 10 births, a testament to a different era’s expectations.
In a world where women were predominantly tasked with homemaking, my mother harboured a steadfast desire for motherhood, a yearning to nurture and provide the warmth she had often lacked in her own upbringing.
Struggling to conceive left her feeling vulnerable, questioning her own strength and fearing that her deepest aspirations might forever elude her grasp. Picture her alongside my father, Godwin Wickham, two young souls brimming with love and dreams of building a family, only to confront an imposing obstacle. But my mother, being the resilient and determined woman she is, refused to relinquish her dream.
Driven by an unwavering resolve, she embarked on a quest, seeking solutions from one physician to the next until fate led her to another strong and woman and purposeful woman like herself, Dr. Irene Quandie—a local gynaecologist renowned for her expertise in aiding couples on their journey to parenthood.
My mother had been enveloped in the tumultuous emotions of infertility for what seemed like an eternity. However, when she finally embarked on treatment, it was as if she rediscovered her beacon of hope. Months of medical interventions later, she awoke one morning, her feet swollen, feeling queasy and unsteady. Deep within, she sensed she was pregnant and fervently thanked the divine for bestowing upon her the chance to fulfil her deepest desire. Yet, cautious optimism prevailed as she awaited confirmation – and indeed, the joyous news arrived: she was pregnant.
Navigating her inaugural pregnancy proved to be a formidable challenge, but her resolve remained unyielding. They say it takes a village, and while her support network wasn’t vast, she embraced every morsel of advice and assistance offered. A sense of solitude tinged a portion of her pregnancy, as my father had to briefly depart for Barbados. Nevertheless, he ensured his timely return, unwilling to miss the momentous occasion of my birth. On Monday morning, October 22, 2001, my mother, Suela Wickham, welcomed me into the world as Sueann Wickham – a lively baby girl tipping the scales at 5-6 pounds.
She had to undergo a cesarean delivery— deemed the safest course of action, which brought its own set of physical discomforts and challenges. However, amidst the throes of post-operative soreness, her heart brimmed with overwhelming elation at the arrival of her firstborn. With aspirations of a three-child family, the prospect of a baby girl as her inaugural offspring seemed to fulfil a cherished dream.
In 2004, she welcomed her second child, my younger brother, Shamar into the world. Though this pregnancy mirrored the trials of her first, her experience fortified her resolve. Once again, a cesarean delivery was the prudent choice for ensuring a safe birth. This signalled a seismic shift in my mother’s life. No longer did she tend to just one, but two precious souls who demanded her attention. While my recollections from that time may be hazy, I distinctly remember her deftly juggling the responsibilities of nurturing me and comforting my boisterous brother. She would make me a bottle and ensure my comfort as she juggled my crying baby brother in her arms in hopes that he would soon be soothed.
In 2009, my younger sister Syesha entered our lives, yet again altering the dynamic of our household. Until then, it had been just my brother and me, navigating the routines of nursery and primary school while our father worked tirelessly outside the home. Meanwhile, my mother, a true multitasker, took on the roles of chef, cleaner, and even occasional handyman—all while carrying the weight of a third pregnancy. For her, this pregnancy was bittersweet, knowing it would be her final pregnancy—her last time getting to lay a newborn offspring on her chest for skin-to-skin contact and all the other devoured first moments. Her doctor had warned her of potential complications in future pregnancies.
At night she would pack her hospital bags and I observed, with my schoolwork momentarily forgotten. Then one day she started packing our bags too. I was a little confused so I asked her if we were going to the hospital with her—silly me. But she told me that my brother and I would be going to stay with my aunt who luckily lived in the middle of my school and the hospital, a few corners from each. I was worried but also very much excited.
The arrival of my baby sister filled our home with joy and completed my mother’s dream of having three children, defying earlier doubts about her ability to conceive. As the eldest, I eagerly took on the role of assistant parent, learning the intricacies of childcare from diaper changes to bottle preparation. Our nights were spent huddled together with my mother and siblings, as we awaited our father’s return from work, creating a cocoon of love and security amidst life’s uncertainties. She made us feel safe and cherished.
Our home soon became a sanctuary for many, a testament to my mother’s nurturing spirit and unwavering hospitality. Despite the demands of raising three children, she welcomed others into our fold, offering a safe haven to my cousins and friends alike from near and far. Her nurturing side was so valued that when it was time for some to leave, they opted or begged to stay.
Her gentle yet firm guidance instilled values in those under her care, shaping not just our lives but the lives of many who crossed our threshold.
Inspired by her example, I embraced my role as her “little right-hand woman,” finding joy in caring for infants and becoming the go-to babysitter for countless cousins in my family. As I matured, I realized that her legacy of love and compassion was not just a gift to our family but to all who entered our home.
As a result of undergoing three c-sections, my mother developed a hernia that would significantly impact her life for many years. This condition limited her ability to exercise as she desired and restricted certain physical activities.
Moreover, she grappled with growing insecurities about her appearance after birthing three children. Despite being reminded of the bravery and difficulty inherent in undergoing three c-sections, my mother struggled with feelings of insecurity. She was often reminded that while her insecurities were valid, she was loved unconditionally, regardless of her physical appearance. Eventually, she underwent surgical intervention to remedy her hernia, marking another chapter in her journey of resilience and perseverance.
Over the years, I developed a fiercely protective instinct towards my younger siblings, a trait I attribute to observing my mother’s exceptional parenting skills. Despite her humble beginnings as a country girl, she never imagined she would one day raise three children and become a cornerstone of our community.
Yet, she defied expectations. My siblings and I are living proof of her unwavering determination, boundless faith, and enduring hope. Her example taught me that unconditional love transcends romantic relationships and inspired me to aspire to her level of motherhood. I often envision that when the time comes for me to embrace motherhood, her teachings will serve as my guiding light.
In many ways, she is not just my mother, but also my entire support system. I eagerly seek to emulate her wisdom, hoping to become at least half the mother she is when my own journey into motherhood begins.
As we celebrate Mother’s Day—this special day dedicated to mothers everywhere, it is important to express our deepest appreciation to these strong women who are the embodiment of love and sacrifice. To my mother, my rock, my confidante, and my greatest source of inspiration. Happy Mother’s Day!
