Grieving Papa

23 August 2025, will be exactly two years to the day that I found my dad unresponsive. Whilst I knew instantaneously that he was gone, simply because of how cold he was to my touch, my mind kept telling me that there was faint breathing. All I needed to do was to get the ambulance in quickly and they would revive him. 

None of that happened. I mean, the ambulance arrived quickly, but the paramedics pronounced his passing. The chill that I felt at that point is something I vividly remember. 

Things needed to be done. A funeral had to be organised. Over here, we do it all quite quickly. Family and friends had started turning up. It was happening. My dad had passed away. 

It still feels unreal. I come home from a work meeting, the park, or from just having been out, fully expectant to see him at home, probably with his nose buried in one of his Extreme Sudoku books. It would be great to just have the summary of news given to me, with the perfect amount of detail. I miss all this a lot. Every time I realise that he’s really not around, my heart breaks. 

This time, there is a difference in how I’m grieving. When I lost mum, I didn’t even realise that grief had hit me that hard. I didn’t know what I was going through. I knew I was sad, but I thought it’d be a few months and I’d be over it. 

I never expected the other effects alongside the grief to take hold either. Suppressed grief isn’t healthy. 

Seventeen years and seven months after losing my mum, losing my dad shocked me. I didn’t expect to ever feel such pain again. I never considered that my heart could be broken that badly again. 

Yet, this time, it is different. This time, I know what I’m going through. I’ve been able to get the help I need and I do exactly what I need to whenever a wave of emotions come over me. This time, my grief has a voice. 

What does this mean for me? It means I’m able to show up and be present. I’ve set up a business and have been busy with that. I’ve even managed to write a book! Am waiting for the editors now. It’s so much more activity than I could previously manage. 

It’s not that I miss my dad less. Not at all. I feel a deep pain when I think about him and often I have to take little moments to shed tears or sit with the pain. It hurts so much not having him here. The devastation in my home caused by his absence is obvious to me. The struggle I face planning my ins and outs with all that I need to manage is tough to deal with. Celebrations with the extended family reminds me of what I’ve lost. The coming together of friends reveals to me another change in what I shared with papa. It hurts so much. It hurts so badly. 

What is different this time is that I’ve been fully aware of how present God has been with me, helping me process the implications of my loss and what they mean for me. God’s good with grief. He never rushes us through it. He lets me have my moment, and I tend to remember how Jesus wept in the times I cry. 

This is a pain we were never meant to be okay with. This is a pain that God never intended for us. My thoughts inevitably go to Jesus’ death and resurrection. I believe He was the perfect sacrifice and atonement for sin. My parents believed this too. So I know I will see them again. 

Taking the moments the way I have been, have helped me remember these truths. They have been so helpful. They don’t numb the pain. Rather they help me channel it through the lens of God’s sacrificial love and mercy for us. 

This is why I am calmer, more accepting, and am not spiralling from this pain. The way I eventually learnt to grieve my mum, has really helped me with the loss of my dad. 

Sometimes, though, as I think back, I remember too how much my dad tried to prepare me for his passing. I’d never want to discuss it, but he kept speaking about it and reminding me not to stop living. He reminded me too that one day we would all be reunited. It brings tears to my eyes as I remember him doing this. 

I think my father would be proud of me – especially with the business and the book. I remember how excited he was when I first told him I wanted to write a book – just that I didn’t know what to write about! He reminded me that my mum always said I’d be able to write one. 

Two years later- and the rhythm in my home is still unsettled. Gamora doesn’t have her granddad to help out when her mama needs to go out for the day. Others come to the rescue -and we are grateful. However, it is a reminder that our home is not as it was. 

Two years down the road, my Lombok creeper flowers magnificently. I feel God communicating with me through this – perhaps a response to many whispered prayers about how I’ll know He’s there since papa’s not here anymore – if He lets it flower. It flowers constantly. I hold to this like a child- it’s not what is promised!

Two years ago today, I lost my entire home. My broken heart broke all over again. Thankfully, this time, I’ve been able to keep my voice. I’m thankful to God for the father He blessed me with. I will always speak of my God and the many blessings He bestowed upon me.

I miss you, papa.