Author: anitastephen2015

Today’s been a difficult day on many levels and a lovely one for a whole host of other reasons. It started off lovely with a walk in the park with Gamora and dear friends of ours. Then there was some news about something not so pleasant that’s been going on. I’m not going to spell out the problem as I barely know what to make of it. It only makes me miss my father. I think his presence would’ve made the difference to the entire situation. I think it wouldn’t have happened. The rest of the day included a glorious massage, a treat by my amazing friend. We had cake after that, and closed our day with dinner at home and an enjoyable movie. It’s been good having my friends here. I’m dreading the end of their visit. I’ve been receiving messages from concerned family and friends all day – and for this, I’m grateful. 

I’ve mentioned walks in the park with Gamora in a few other blogs I’ve written. This is a park I discovered very soon after my dad passed away. The park has been a therapeutic discovery. For Gamora it is a place of much wonder. There are so many delights to tantalise my little hunter. Her body is busy at work. Her little legs run nonstop and the exceptions to these are when she spots potential prey, makes friends with another doggie or friendly person, makes nature calls, or stops for water. She simply loves it. The satisfaction on her face is unmistakable. I love it and I think I will never tire of the look on her face  after an enjoyable walk. Gamora’s adorable when she settles into her car seat and noisily (and rather messily) laps water up from her bowl. 

I took some lovely photos of my favourite water lilies. The walk was good. Gamora sniffed at every thing in sight as is her usual. My friends tried taking photos of the helicopters and jets that were flying low, probably for our Independence Day celebrations coming up. It felt like there was something for everyone. 

I took a photo of a water lily. It was pink and in full bloom. It was alone, except for some leaves floating by it. It looked rather composed and calm. I love that look. Above it was the ever so blue sky dotted with clouds. My photo captures this beautifully. The clouds are somewhat delicate and the blueness of the sky takes over the murky brownness of the lake in which the lily resides. It truly is gorgeous and I’m proud of this photo. I have been trying to take better photos. Given that I can no longer squat or go on my knees, thanks to my RA, I find that I’m unable to get closer to the lilies. Additionally, I have Gamora’s leash in one hand and my little one isn’t the picture of perfect patience! It is hard trying to take photos with one hand. But this photo is good. I am pleased. 

The news that wasn’t so pleasant came after our walk in the park. I think I’m mostly in shock and I cannot seem to find my feelings. I know I miss my father. I know I miss my mother. I am in dire need of their comfort and wisdom. In many senses, I feel alone. Perhaps it is that sensation that made me think back on the photo I had taken. It’s such a pretty picture. The water lily looks as if it’s thriving because of the blueness of the sky, the water that it is in is hidden. I’m not a fan of what’s in that lake! I know there are fish and tortoises that people feed, but there are also huge monitor lizards. I cannot tell the number of times we’ve seen gigantic ones that look like mini alligators to me scurrying back into the water when  Gamora’s hunting call gets too much for them. I daren’t even think of what other dangers lurk in those waters. I just know I am not a fan. 

As my anxious mind contemplated the photograph I’d taken in light of the troubles of the day, I remembered God speaking about the lilies of the field (Matthew 6: 28-30). The lilies of the field, much like these water lilies that I’m enamoured by neither toil nor spin but we are told that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. The reminder is that ‘if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven,’ how much more will His care be for us? This reminder comes as a balm to my soul. I am reminded that in 1 Corinthians 6:20 that we are ‘bought with a price,’ that price being Jesus’ death on the cross in our place. 

I know that Jesus’ death and resurrection don’t mean that life here on earth will be trouble free. I know that. I don’t like that truth! It means that I may face another disappointment like I just have done. I wish I never have to, for it’s made me feel so very foolish and so very violated. I don’t like it because while I’m alive, I will never have the home that I’ve lost and that I miss with all my heart. But I do know that there will come a time when all is restored and made new again. There will be no more tears. This too is because of Christ’s purchase made upon the cross. It makes me then think how my life would look if it were a photograph. Like that lily, maybe there is a feeling of being alone when exposed to the elements and dangers that lurk in my vicinity. Like that lily, perhaps I cannot always thrive. There are seasons of my life which are tough. I’m in my toughest season yet as I navigate life without my father or mother. The latest disappointment isn’t a season, but an incident within an already difficult season. My future in Christ means blue skies are on the horizon. What a glorious future we are promised! My time on earth does have good and bad accompaniment. This goes without saying. But I contemplate where my anchor is- and that murkiness that the lovely water lilies in the park endure doesn’t really exist for me. Why? Because my anchor is Christ. He is good. He is safe. So perhaps my reality is closer to the photo that I took this morning. For this, I am so grateful. 

This season of grief will have many other challenges, I think. I hope that like today, I will always be reminded by God’s Word that He knows what I need in the different seasons of my life. 

I’m so very blessed. Some of my closest friends are here with me. They flew over from the UK to keep me company over my dad’s first year death anniversary. Papa passed away on 23 August 2023. My mind has been full of events leading up to the day I found him. My mind is busy. Even as I attempt to make conversation, or do so many other things, I find myself linking things back to my dad. 

This morning for instance, we went to the park I take Gamora for walks. My little Gamora loved it. My friends and I had to tolerate her nonstop high pitched sounds that are accompanied by her constant wagging tail all the way on the drive to the park. She especially dislikes it if the car stops. For Gamora, traffic jams and traffic lights are simply unbearable. They get in the way of her heading to the park, which is her mini land of delights. 

True to form, Gamora’s nose was peeled to the ground once we got to the park, and she happily explored, contributed towards watering and fertilising the ground, and merrily ran along. It’s her happy place. For my friends, it was their first time there. They were taken in by the joys of nature from a different land, while Gamora squealed at every squirrel, monitor lizard, and bird she saw but wasn’t allowed to try and hunt down. Her squeals are loud. She takes the disappearance of hunting prospects very seriously. The park was lovely today. It was gloomy and at points we had a mild drizzle, but still, it was pretty. The water lilies were out. They’re my favourites. I was glad to share the park with my friends. I love going there with Gamora. It’s especially wonderful when my friends and family join us there. In the middle of this joy, I had a constant nagging feeling. I first went to this particular park days after my dad’s funeral. I needed to get out of the house. I needed to expel the restlessness within me. The park was lovely then too. Gamora loved it. Inside, I was sad. It’s a gorgeous place that I can’t share with my dad. 

My dad was always interested in where I’d been. Even if it was to the pool, he’d be keen to know how the entire experience was – it was his way of sharing the joy when he wasn’t able to join in person. In fact, every time I get home from the park or anywhere else, I can hear him ask me how it was. How far had I walked or swum? Who had I seen? The questions were endless. His delight was real. I miss this. I miss him. He wouldn’t have been able to join us at the park today, but he’d have been so happy to hear how it’d all gone for us. 

Maybe I should explain how it went. It was really lovely. How many times have I said that about the park already? There are always pretty flowers, gigantic trees with all sorts of growths coming out of them, fish, tortoises, birds, squirrels, monkeys, and monitor lizards among others to look at. I’m quite happy if we never see monkeys or monitor lizards, but it’s hard to escape them. There are parts of the grass which are covered in flowers of different colours- purple, yellow, pink, white carpets over the lush green grass. Simply gorgeous. There are busy colonies of red ants at work. I’m quite careful when I see them and keep an eye out to steer Gamora away from them but their work ethic is legendary. It shows. The brownness of the leaves that cover the ground and the bog-like ground in some parts of the park on rainy days, are an ever present reminder that it’s not always pretty. Earlier, Gamora refused to walk on the bridges. I’d have to carry her. For almost a whole year, she’s flatly refused. She overcame her aversion to the bridges and decks not so long ago. Now, it’s hard to keep her away. She wants to cross every bridge or visit each deck. So much to see and do. On some days, we meet familiar or friendly faces. That’s quite a treat. On some other days, we meet doggies and Gamora’s especially thrilled when she’s able to bond with them. There are days like today when Gamora and I have company. Delightful! There are days when it’s just the two of us. Whatever the circumstance at the park, there’s always the feeling in my heart that it’s not just mum who’s no longer here, but papa’s gone too. I remind myself as I drive back not to expect to see his car. It’s a shock I feel every time when it’s not there as I drive into our porch. Today our friends came home with us. We had company going into the house. Papa’s absence makes it very difficult going inside the house after being out. I keep thinking he’s going to be there and he’s not. There’s always a moment when reality hits. It’s not a great feeling when that happens. This is but a little insight into what it’s been like for the past year, but my dad’s not here and I can’t tell him. 

I miss papa. I’m thankful to God for the loved ones I have around me. I’m thankful for the opportunities to remember papa. I’m so grateful to the ones who talk to me about my dad and my mum. I cannot say how deeply thankful I am that they do this. I’m blessed to have pretty places to go to, whether they are parks, little breaks in hillsides or by the beach. I’m grateful to have loved ones coming by our home. So thankful for this. All of this is grace from God. They don’t stop my mind from missing my dad and mum. That wheel seems to keep turning. There doesn’t seem to be a brake. It’s a whole new experience I cannot tell my dad about. 

I don’t think faith in God stops pain. I think faith in God happens through pain. It’s a journey where God takes you through a tumultuous road and assures you that He is there all the time. I think this is what will help me keep going. As I plan ahead and look to time ahead, I cannot help but feel that I am grateful that I will meet my parents again. Even in my lowest, driest moments of faith, the object of my faith, Jesus, saves. I’m so thankful for this. It’s not up to me. If it were, I think I can let it be known that I’ve checked out for a bit. I pray for better days, when this feeling of sadness leaves me. I dislike it. It weighs down my shoulders and I feel its tightness in my body. Till the coming again of Jesus’ kingdom, I think that my time here will be like my visit to the park. There will be lots to experience and they will fill my senses. Yet there will be an underlying sadness that cannot be quenched- I miss my mum and dad too much. I will be shocked at the quietness and emptiness of my home at some points. I will be faced by staggering levels of pain and tears will be a friend. Even so, underlying that sadness is a hope I have. A hope of reunion in a perfect home where God is forever in our midst and all is made right. I just wish now that I could talk to my dad about this. 

Papa, I miss you so much. 

Soon it will be a year since my dad passed away. I’m struggling to come to terms with this. I’m still stuck on finding him the way I did and knowing (though not acknowledging), that he was gone. The suddenness of it has been hard to take, despite his being ninety. When news first broke, I lost count of the number of people who declared their shock with the words ‘But I just saw him (driving past) yesterday…’ It has been a strange season. I’m not used to coming downstairs without calling out to my dad. I’m still tempted to do that every single morning. For almost a year now, the inability to carry out that routine alone has been painful. I cannot believe the time that has lapsed. It doesn’t feel like it to me. 

My organisation held its biggest event in Jakarta last year. I was supposed to be away from home from the 31st of July to either the 12th or 13th of August. This event happens once every four years and on 2019, when I first joined, I had the opportunity to go for it. That was in South Africa. The impact of the event in 2019 is probably what helps me stay on in my role despite the many challenges I face executing it. I was excited for the chance to meet with my colleagues from all over the world once again. Only, as time drew closer for me to confirm my participation, the anxiety of leaving my dad alone was gripping. I didn’t want to go. I ended up going from the 31st of July to the 2nd of August. This is significant for me. 

The first significant thing was that it was how God brought me home just before my mum passed. He gave me that time with her, when I was supposed to be away in the UK for Christmas and New Year after the wedding of dear friends. Similarly, God granted me time with my dad. My being back from Jakarta meant my dad was able to attend an uncle’s eightieth birthday party. My dad didn’t always go for things. If he felt tired, he would say he couldn’t go. He was excellent at reading his own body that way. For this, he was keen, and it was the last big celebration that he attended. It feels like part of a send off, which I cannot help but think God granted him. My dad enjoyed that outing. We talked about it the next day and for a few days after. Additionally, it meant that some friends who’ve migrated but who were back visiting Malaysia, could come for a visit. My dad enjoyed their visit. It was truly lovely. 

Even more significantly, and I think this as grace from God to me, was that upon my return from Jakarta, we had certain conversations. When it comes to conversing, I am my mother’s daughter. My father did not have the talent for easy communication. This is why I’ve always felt that we struggled. I think that I was wrong to judge things so, especially in light of some of the chats we did have on his final days. 

My dad told me how my presence at home made him feel more secure. We were able to clear up an argument over an incident some time ago, where he didn’t have the words to explain his insecurity, and where I didn’t have the wisdom to figure it out. Insecurity is not something I associated with my father. However, it did seem that as he was getting on in age, he enjoyed the security of his daughter’s company. Maybe he knew that even if I told him off for eating a ‘roti telur’- which much to my regret, I did the night before he passed, I would be there for him with all of my being.  Saying that, my dad was always quick to remind me that there were places I couldn’t go, journeys I couldn’t make, and things I couldn’t do, which were for him to go on, make, or do. He would say that he needed to depend on God and that he didn’t expect me to always be at home for him. He didn’t say it so clearly – I’m explaining it a lot better than how he said it. I think, any way. Sometimes I’m amazed that I understood him! We were so different. He often chuckled when I reacted the way I did or said what I did, when I found it hard to understand. I feel a right fool. It’s not easy to understand when you communicate so differently. I’m so thankful to God for the times we communicated well. I’m so thankful for some of the conversations that I had with him in the days/weeks leading up to his passing. 

I am sad that I wasn’t by my dad’s side when he passed. What I imagined I would’ve said and done, I cannot say. The honest truth is, I don’t know. I think I would’ve been a blubbering mess. Even my ‘papa- no, no’ response upon finding him was indicative of my uselessness. What could I have done? I wonder very much at points if I could’ve granted him some measure of comfort. As I read John 14: 1-6, I feel that I couldn’t possibly have. Jesus says to us directly to let not our hearts be troubled, to believe in God, and then goes on to tell us of the place He has prepared for us. He is speaking to the living. The interesting thing is, He says in John 14:3 ‘And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also.’ This gives me comfort. I know that my dad believed this. I know too  I cannot compete with Jesus in any way when it comes to giving assurance- even more, on a journey that I have not yet taken. This was one situation out of many, that I could not control. It was not my power to be there. I wasn’t a part of papa’s final send off, but I know that Jesus would’ve been a part of his welcome. The comfort that gives me is huge as I reflect on not being there for papa’s final moments. It is also huge as I contemplate my own future. I will take that journey one day too. I too will breathe my last when my time comes. And when I do, I know I can trust Jesus to come and get me. In this I trust, even if I don’t know how it will happen. 

I am very thankful for my dad. The highs and lows of our relationship have grown me and have made me see that this is how honest relationships can be. It was real. The totality of it was beautiful. I do regret that I never always recognised its beauty. In my arrogance of wanting to control stuff, I tried to make this relationship exactly like what my mum and I had. That was a beautiful relationship too. It was different, though. I see that now. It may be that papa isn’t here for me to share it with, but it still helps me. It helps me a lot. 

I’m glad that my dad and I had the time we had together before he passed on. I’m glad for visitors over the year, the cousin who stayed with him and Gamora while I was in Jakarta, and the friend who stayed with us just before he passed because he did so enjoy having guests. I am so thankful for the celebrations we had in the last few months of his life. He enjoyed each one of them. He thoroughly did. We talked about this. I’m glad I got through my coaching qualification with a distinction- he was so proud of that. So proud. His response was ‘Very good…what’s next?’ I thank God for making me anxious enough to shorten my work trip, and for my bosses and colleagues who understood it, even when I couldn’t explain more. I’m just grateful to God for how He planned it all. I guess the reasons are overwhelmingly in God’s favour for me to trust His words in John 14: 1-6. I have spent much time on this passage in this past year. I’m trying to trust in God and not let my heart be troubled.

Papa, I never thought my heart would break again after losing mummy. I thought it wasn’t possible. There were others who passed in the years after she left, and while I was sad, very sad even in some cases, my heart never felt the same intensity of pain as when mummy died. At least that was the case until you left. My heart’s broken again. That deep, deep sorrow is back. I think part of me is still in shock at this fact. It’s going to take time and I don’t have you faithfully standing by me. Am so thankful that you and mummy grew me in Jesus. He sustains me, even when I’m not showing up. So thank you for that. Home’s not the same. I miss you so much.

What a contrast a year brings. Yesterday was my birthday. It was quiet, and deliberately so. I blocked the FB notification about birthdays, though I forgot to do that on LinkedIn. I also sent messages to the usual suspects about not doing anything for my birthday this year as friends had started messaging to ask me when I was free for treats and such. Usually it’s such a thrilling time for me. I love birthdays and I love celebrating them. This time, after my dad’s passing, I have a sense of deja vu. I don’t feel like anything. The time I felt this way last was when my mum died in 2006. My father understood this, and he was patient with me. His passing feels like a bandaid has been ripped off a wound, causing it to get bigger. I don’t like this feeling.

It has been a lot of tears on my side. I genuinely dislike crying because it seems to leave a lingering headache. Additionally, I often feel that I look like I’m recovering from some kind of a hangover, which hasn’t been in my repertoire of experiences. Essentially I think I feel as rough as I look when I cry. And I dislike how it makes me feel choked. I think I use my words quite a bit, but crying deprives me of this ability. It also feels like my brain is off on some kind of tangent where I feel it trying to burst out of my head – that’s where the dull throbbing headache starts, and then it goes limp. It’s hard to function. I dread being with people then, and it takes a lot of energy out of me.

Perhaps the dread of being with people when I feel sad is my problem and perhaps it is something I need to work on. I feel a pressure to be okay. I feel I need to put a positive spin on things, but maybe, it is also not always bad to see the silver lining.

Yesterday I attended a wedding. It was beautiful! I loved how my friend and her husband planned a wedding that really pointed everyone to Christ. Their focus was on all the right things. The beauty of marriage, its purpose and design, the roles of the couple and the community around them in light of God were all beautifully expressed. I was thankful for the delightful expression. It took my mind off my own sadness. It felt like I’d successfully left this sadness in the carpark. It was a beautiful, beautiful wedding. I had the privilege of some lovely conversations too. It feels like such a paradox saying I don’t want to be with people when I’m sad but at the same time having these lovely moments of connection where I can say I enjoyed something. There’s that bittersweet feeling that I’ve got all too familiar with.

I loved coming home. A faithful cousin caring for my pup while I attended the wedding meant that my home didn’t feel vacant when I walked in. It made such a big difference to me yesterday. She needed to leave and there was a moment when Gamora and I had to ourselves before spending time with my girl friends. I lay in my father’s bed. His scent still lingers in his room and it feels like home. I lay in his bed with Gamora next to me. She’s such a licker, but I think she went into overdrive trying to stop every tear that fell from my eyes. My little Gamy girl is a sweetheart. She really is a blessing.

I miss my father. In 2006 when I lost my mum, it was the first time that I stopped wanting to celebrate my birthday. It took a while to get back to the celebrations but before I did, my dad would suggest quiet dinners which I gratefully accepted. It is painful that he isn’t here. It is painful that mum isn’t here. It feels wrong. I did have blessings come in even in this dark, dark moment in my heart. There’s a gorgeous Swiss roll, which Gamora has been eyeing, from a lovely friend with big struggles of her own. Then there’s my cousin who came to mind Gamora and keep me company, and some really thoughtful messages from friends and family. Really – lovely ones. Poems, kind words, and voice messages. The cutest one goes hands down to my cousin’s son who’s only a month shy of turning five. He sent his messages as a baby Batman dog. Heaven alone knows what that means but it was beautiful. All of these were comforting. And then there were a couple of my girl friends with whom I got to spend the evening. It was good chatting about all sorts of things. Another moment where the sadness in my heart was told to calm down.

The reality is, it’s probably going to take a while before I feel like birthdays are doable. Gosh – I remember every cake my parents and then later my dad, got me since I was five. It’s mental. My parents made such a big deal of me. In the later years of his life, my dad wasn’t able to organise cakes but he would give me cash and plead with me to get a cake. It must’ve been a pleasant association for him too. It was how he and mum expressed celebrating me. There were times I’d want to forgo some cake because there was just us two- but he made me get something, even if it was just a couple of slices. Maybe it is what my father and mother did that makes me associate birthdays and other celebrations with cake. Maybe it is why I usually offer to make a cake or when I can’t bake it, I get one. My mum was never into baking, and we’ve always wondered how I got into it. Maybe it was this. Maybe I associate this with a form of loving. As I say this, I do feel sadness, and there are tears. But there’s also a warm feeling very deep inside. I grieve because of how much love I was shown by my parents. I have been so blessed.

I’m also blessed because there is so much love all around from family and friends. I love the news of travels, new pups, and all sorts that have been coming in- gentle, warm, and loving. I will listen to the voice messages from yesterday once again. I will reread the poems and special messages once more. I will reflect on a lovely meal last night, with lots of laughter and some moments of shared loss. I will remind myself that the Lord has blessed me with so many other blessings in the people around me. I will remind myself to trust Him. Last night, as we sat around the table, I was again reminded of Psalm 133, a song of ascents, of David. Lovely king David. It says in its very first verse, ‘Behold, how good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell in unity!’ What a wonderful thing indeed. For as the Psalm says, friendship is like ‘precious oil on the head’ and like ‘the dew of Hermon which falls on the mountain.’ Beautiful, beautiful imagery of being refreshed and recharged by the anointing of the head with oil, and by dew that keeps land from drying up like a desert. Even in these days that feel sad and dark, I am refreshed and renewed by wonderful family and friends who are my blessings from the Lord. I treasure this blessing – even when I feel my heart is broken. So I can say, thank You, Lord, for Your generosity to me.

Papa and mummy – I miss you.

I’ve been talking to different friends over these months about how losing my dad has brought about so much change in my life. It feels as if this has happened just as I’ve started getting used to the change of losing my mum eighteen years ago! Change is hard. I find it hard, anyway. I recognise this. I get attached to people, my dogs, surroundings, and sometimes even things. This list isn’t an exhaustive one. As I reflect on the past, some of the most difficult parts of my life have been related to change. Change is hard.

Perhaps change is harder when things have been good. In this regard, I thank God. Things have indeed been good. The recognition of blessings that have been granted me, move me. I feel a sense of love from God in a way that I understand. God’s love came to us so perfectly in Jesus. God’s love is demonstrated so perfectly in Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. Yet, I cannot fully fathom it. It is impossible – even when I try hard. I get some wee glimpses of its beauty. The beauty of perfection is impossible to describe, especially when I am in an imperfect state. I believe it with all my heart- to the extent that all my heart understands, but it is hard to understand this love. I think it is because of how much I lack in such understanding that God sends me blessings that I can fathom. My parents, my life with them, my life with my dad as just the two of us for a long time, our home, my doggies from Patches to Loki and now Gamora, my friends, etc., etc., etc. are all God’s blessings that I really get. Unlike Jesus, every other blessing is temporal in nature. That’s their nature- fleeting. Change is hard.

Change that is significant causes shifts in how we view ourselves. It is inevitable. I was always an only child, from a loving home. I had a mother who absolutely adored me and openly expressed it. I had a father who loved me and expressed it by standing by me through thick and thin. The kind of confidence that comes from being in such a home is hard to explain. It showed. I was loved at home. I knew that that love didn’t depend on a job title. I changed jobs at different points, doing what I needed when I needed to. I knew that love didn’t depend on me getting married and having kids. This has helped me make some really good decisions relationally. It helped me do what suited me. It’s easier to make such changes when it doesn’t change the value of who you are in the eyes of those who behold you. I was bullied when I was young. It was my parents who helped me overcome the trauma of the bullying. The security I speak of has helped me speak my mind. I’m able to say what I need to for myself. Advocating for myself has been important – it’s been a useful tool! I’ve been able to speak up and stand up for others. It has helped me be strong. There are so many areas in which this confidence has helped. It’s another area where the list is inexhaustible.

This confidence took a whack when my mum passed away. Suddenly I felt unsure in many things. However, my father helped me in that stead and I kept moving forward. My question at the end of our chats was usually a ‘Papa, how?’ I can’t do this now. My dad’s gone. His passing is a big blow. I’ve lost so much. I have to reconsider confidence. Change is hard!

My parents did always try to instil in me the knowledge that my true confidence should come from knowing Jesus. They taught me that my confidence in Christ came from how I responded to situations in life with God’s Word as my armour. They used this when they helped me deal with the bullying. They used this to help me through insecurities I had. They used this when I was worried about pursuing unconventional routes. I guess not having either of them here to remind me in the way they so effectively did, of how my confidence is and should be in Christ alone, is tough to take. Change is hard.

Whilst change is hard, it is inevitable. We cannot stop change from happening. Nothing is ever static- it is part of life. The situations we are in keep developing over time. We cannot stop this. It keeps happening for as long as our blood choruses within our veins. It is the way of life. Change is hard. Change is inevitable.

This is where I find myself. I’m trying to adjust to a very painful, significant, and most unwanted change. It’s a permanent change as long as I live and breathe. I’m not crumbling. I’m adjusting. For clarity’s sake, crying is not crumbling. I’m trying to figure out how to take the lesson of my confidence being in Christ and make it more real. I’m contemplating this. It’s necessary. My biggest supporters are no longer here to do this. They’ve given me the baton and I need to keep this walk going. Change is inevitable.

Surely as I put one foot before another, things will become clearer. I think somehow, that my walk towards change will be more in line with my arthritic self on a bad day. On some days, I may even need some assistance. Lately, I had to use a walker for some days. The inelegance of it all is humbling. It made me pack up the final pair of heels that I had, which were custom made by a designer, and give them away. They were gorgeous. I loved them. I can no longer use them. There is no more going back. My feet are changed by the swelling in my ankle joints. They will never fit into those heels again. It is a beauty gone. I hadn’t realised how symbolic the whole thing was until I parted with those heels! I’ve had to change my footwear. I’ve had to change how much I walk, as well as the frequency of walks to reach certain goals. I’ve had to change the supports that I use. The goal is to keep moving forward. Moving forward requires change.

Thankfully, and I feel a sense of relief as I say this, I believe that true change can only come from Christ. It is impossible otherwise. This was the lesson my parents kept trying to teach me. Even as I contemplate the topic of confidence in Christ and how it will play out in the days to come, I feel a sense of hope. My parents taught me well. Since 2018, my father had been trying to prepare me for his passing. He kept trying to tell me that I must be brave, and that the change was inevitable even if it would be hard. He wanted me to start listening more and trying to figure out how to lean on God more for this. I noticed the change in his answers to my ‘Papa, how?’ questions. He would ask me to seek wisdom on things, to not be hasty, but to pray. He would ask me what the Bible said on such and such a thing. This was the beginning of a new discipline, and I will need to keep working at it to cope with the changes in my life.

For now, I am confident of a few things. I haven’t got it all worked out. Of that, I’m confident! But, saying this, I am confident that through this process of grieving, I will adjust to the changes in my life with God in mind. I will be listening in more to friends who are fellow believers, to gain counsel on the path ahead. Reminders of God’s Word from any of them will be instructive and helpful. Discussions on how we work out grace in our lives, especially in challenging situations will be treasured even more. I see now that there is work to do. Change is hard. Change is inevitable. Oh but how Christ is constant. Of this, I am sure. So I will walk on knowing that He is a living God, and His Word will always instruct, rebuke, grow, or encourage me. In this, I am confident.

Little Gamora and I managed a walk in the park today. It’s sort of a gloomy Saturday morning, which isn’t necessarily unpleasant. It is cool. Whilst there are parts of the park which are wetter than most days, it’s a different kind of beauty as the sun rays are reflected off wet blades of grass and leaves. For Gamora, all that matters is that we’re out there! Together. She loves the park. She loves being outside. She loves being with me.

I’ve been observing Gamora quite a bit. Over my dad’s birthday, I didn’t want to be at home, so I went to a pet friendly place only an hour away. It was lovely there- set in a jungle, where you hear all sorts of sounds coming through the woody paths. I had a lot of time alone with Gamora as we explored. My RA has progressed to my left hip (Yippee! Not!). I’ve been finding it a bit more challenging with stairs and in the jungle resort we were at, every path was way below, and the only way to get to them was via large, steep, uneven stairs. I was initially a bit nervous about going but I felt that I needed to give Gamora an opportunity to stretch her legs. Boy, did she have to stretch her little legs! There were stairs that were just too high. She managed jumping down, but couldn’t reach them going up without help. My help. My help was inadequate as I couldn’t carry her. I had to be mindful about each step as I could feel my hip (So fun! Not!). Part of me was worried that little Gamora would dash off. I was scared of falling and even more terrified of losing her. But this little shorty behaved immaculately! She waited for me to help her – a little boost for her to get to the next step -and then a pause as I climbed that stair. Boost. Pause. Boost. Pause. I was amazed at her patience and cooperation. We were so synched. It was wonderful!

Even this morning at the park, I noticed the same patience and cooperation. Of course all bets are off when she spots a monitor lizard, squirrel, or whatever else that catches her keen hunter eyes. But for the most part, she’s doing great. She seems to understand that she shouldn’t do certain things right now. She even waits patiently as I try to take photos of water lotuses and other flowers. She’s such a great companion!

I’m not humanising Gamora – I don’t want to. She’s way too cute as a pup! I love her loads as she is, and she’s given me some insight into the many blessings I have in my friends. These past ten months have been tough for me. So tough. The loss of my father is significant on its own. As if it weren’t enough, it’s adding on to the loss of my mother, which was crippling. It’s meant the loss of my immediate family, the loss of home as I know it. It’s the loss of my safest zones among folk I know. Loss of love and acceptance like no other. It has been tough. Through this tough season, I have been helped.

I have been helped by friends. Words elude me on how to express my thanks for their presence in my life. My best friend is in the UK and yet, it feels like she’s right here. Our communications have gone up. I look forward to our chats more than ever. She’s also dealing with significant loss. Yet she’s been there. She and her husband are coming over in August so that I’m not alone during the first anniversary of my dad’s passing. I’m moved beyond words. How do I love them both back? They’re being present in a way I cannot thank them enough for. There are others too. Some of my friends here in Malaysia have been beyond amazing. They’ve stood by me as I attended a remembrance service for my dad. We have brunch dates. They come over to my home at different points and fill my home with laughter and good conversation! They also let me cry. There are various other friends who have come by quite a bit or when it isn’t possible to meet, are in constant communication. They cannot know how much I appreciate this. It’s more than I can express. Some of my former and present colleagues and other friends both in Malaysia or overseas have been stellar in their support. Some of them have also been dealing with significant loss. How do I thank them for being my bright rays? They’ve encouraged and listened. Like I said earlier, I have been helped.

There are some relationships that I rue. I know communications between some friends and I may never recover after this. They’ve just not been there. It hurts because I know I’ve been around for them when they’ve needed me to be. Yet, I acknowledge that it is hard for them to be a friend right now because I am so changed. My grief has caused this change in me and it is here to stay. It means the dynamics of our relationships have changed. These haven’t been rude or unkind. They’ve just not been there. I guess these relationships may see a natural end or they may remain in existence in some sort of shadow of what they formerly were. I don’t have an answer for this. Perhaps something will present itself in time. I seek wisdom.

Coming back to my observations of little Gamora, I realise there is an art to companionship. Gamora, almost intuitively slows down and waits for me when I’m slow and is equally willing to wait for me when I want to give her a hand. I think it’s obvious to my little one that the assistance I was giving her as she tried to navigate those huge, steep stairs, was short of what was truly needed, which was me picking her up and carrying her. She knew I couldn’t. We worked to a rhythm we were comfortable with and trust was built through this. I think this is what I feel with all my friends. I’m not knocking the friends who’ve been there, but it hasn’t been possible for anyone to be with me as I cry myself to sleep at night, when I miss my mum and dad. It hasn’t been possible to be with me when I come down the stairs each morning remembering what happened in my dad’s room on 23 August last year. It isn’t possible for anyone to be with me like that. I certainly don’t expect it. I can’t do that for anyone either. It is humanly impossible! Yet, I think trust is built when we meet each other where we can. We recognise our limitations, and we go ahead and offer up what we can. The friends I am thankful for have done this. Little Gamora made me see this.

I have been helped. I know my friends are a blessing to me from God. I know He has been a friend to me through all this. He is the one constant friend who is there at all times – when I cry myself to sleep or come down those stairs, etc. He is always there. One of my favourite verses in the Bible is Isaiah 41:10, which says ‘fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you,

I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.’ This friendship is good, and I am learning to lean in more on this constant, unwavering God who has reconciled me to Himself through His Son. He knows that I am incapable of fully appreciating Him because He is unseen, and so He sends me others to help me- and I am grateful for the friends He has blessed me with. He tells us in 1 Thessalonians 5:11 to always encourage and build one another up. Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 says: ‘Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone when he falls and has not another to lift him up!’ How true this is! From the many conversations with friends near and far, I’ve experienced this over and over. I pray I am too such a friend to them.

Such a wonderful lesson in friendship through this short, floppy eared, bouncy little creature. I’m thankful to God for Gamora. I’m thankful to God for my friends. You have spurred me on in this difficult season of life, where I’m deeply feeling the loss of friendship from my parents. You are such blessings. Thank you.

Next week, on 19 June to be precise, it will be my dad’s birthday. I’m already feeling a deep sense of sadness, especially considering how much went into his last birthday. He turned 90 last year and I’d started planning his party well ahead of time. Every time I ticked something off my list, I’d have a wide grin on my face, and he’d end up having a chuckle because I’d be all mysterious about what I was doing. He knew full well it was related to his party.

It is so hard to take. The build up at this point last year was intense and exciting. I was counting down days, and then hours to his party. He’d wanted it just with family and I was especially grateful for how everyone chipped in for different things. He was excited about that (in quieter fashion) and he was also very pleased that his brother from abroad was coming. He was thrilled. I could tell from the lightness of his tone in general.

Who knew? Who knew it was to be his last birthday celebration? Who knew? I definitely did not. In fact, I kept making little mental notes of what to do or not to do for the years ahead. Who knew? What is that the Bible says? In Proverbs 16:9, it says that ‘the heart of man plans his way, but the LORD establishes his steps.’ This wisdom is almost enchanting to a planner such as myself. I’m trying to learn this wisdom. To live it.

We’ve been granted so much grace. I consider our last Christmas in December 2022. I remember my dad’s last birthday celebrations in June 2023. I remember my dad’s last participation in my birthday celebrations in July 2023. There’s a lot more than these two years that I remember. I remember decades of special moments. I remember some pretty spectacular arguments too! Gosh. Not good. Neither of us did well there and I often liked to at those points remind him that I was a chip off the old block. There were many moments when I didn’t shine. Yet, in the last few weeks especially, as I started reflecting on my mum and dad and our lives together, I realise there is truly a lot of grace that I cannot account for, nor can I say that the three of us deserved. Our lives bear taints of sin and very clear marks of grace that have carried us through.

As I reflect, I am confronted by a whole lot of emotions that range from a broken heart to those of joy. I have no apology to offer for the diversity of my feelings, but I know that I am changed. I know the sorrow of a moment lost. We talk about making moments count, but the reality is, all we can do is take one breath after another. That is how fleeting our lives are. I guess we can make those breaths good ones. We can take deep, slow breaths and savour the moment. Often there are shallow, quick breaths that betray some kind of anxiety. And the worst scenario is we aren’t even conscious of the breaths we’re taking.

I am changed. I feel like the shattering of my soul from the loss of my parents will never fully heal. I feel that through the cracks and scars caused by this shattering, there will be wonderful rays of light that shine forth. These rays wouldn’t have existed had it not been for the shattering. I feel like the fragility of my soul has been sealed. Oddly enough, I feel that the strength of my soul solidified through the grace of Christ, is on display.

When I wrote a blog around my mum’s birthday, I said I couldn’t imagine what it would’ve been like for her had she been alive these eighteen years. Rheumatoid arthritis is a progressive disease and it’d had its way in her body. If she’d been around, it’d have been a difficult existence. Not that I think she would’ve not enjoyed parts of life – just that it would’ve been painful. My dad in the last few years, especially since 2018, had started trying to prepare me for his passing. He often told me how he was finding things difficult because of his age. He was fantastic, I tell you! He maintained his independence right till the end. Yet, there were signals of his independence fraying. He stopped driving out to the city, because he started finding it harder. He who had insisted on getting his own stuff from the pharmacy or at times even the grocers (to stock his ‘canteen’ or jar of goodies) slowly but surely handed over the reins to me. He stopped travelling after two falls in Singapore in 2017, where I had to fly into Singapore and bring him home. He would often share how tired he felt, though he didn’t give in to it. He maintained a routine of getting all dressed in the morning, going out for breakfast, coming home to a quiet time and then his Sudoku books or TV. The evenings were times he called friends or family for catch ups. He started finding it hard to do these things. Even at his 90th celebrations, he spoke of these things – some of the difficulties he faced. Not that if he was still around, that he’d have given up on life. No. I don’t think that for a minute. He would’ve had moments of enjoyment even as he faced his challenges.

This makes me think. Proverbs 19:21 says:

‘Many are the plans in the mind of a man,

but it is the purpose of the LORD that will stand.’ There is wisdom in this. So much that I can barely even say I’ve understood it all. We hold so many things dear. We value so much. Life as we know it is short and not always sweet. Life as we know it isn’t how life is meant to be. Even the good moments aren’t as rich as they’re meant to be. This is because everything is tainted by sin. I’m informed by the Bible that it is this sin that had Jesus come to die for us. It is His sacrifice that brings reconciliation with the Father to all who believe. This reconciliation brings life. It brings life without any kind of taint on it. Life that is bountiful, free from sorrow and pain. It’s a life that I cannot claim to fully imagine, though I believe will come to pass.

So I will go on, shattered soul and all. I will enjoy the moments that I’m blessed with. And I must really thank God for my friends and family. I’m blessed beyond belief. I am so thankful for the times we chat. Gosh, I love the laughs we have and appreciate the wisdom I gain from them. I am blessed. I love how they fill my home, and how they embrace my darling Gamora. I am so grateful to God for His blessings. I will keep enjoying my walks with little Gamora. As long as I can, I will keep hosting friends and family or meeting up with them. Even as I endeavour to do all this, I feel a pang of pain running through me. My mother. My father. How I miss you.

It will be my dad’s birthday next week. I don’t have a celebration to plan and it is breaking my heart. But I’m taking Gamora away on her first holiday, and a cousin who is Gamora’s fairy godmother, is coming with us. It’s not to a far away location, but quite close by. It’ll be a chance to go for some walks, take a few photos of our surroundings- or at least try! It’s hard to take photos with Gamora on the end of a leash! It will be a change of scene. I’m leaving the planner self behind, and will leave the pages free for God to write. Once again, I look to my beloved king David for a lesson. He doesn’t disappoint. Psalm 32:8: ‘I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you.’ This is what I want to remember going forward.

Papa, who knew that last year would be our last time celebrating you. I’m so glad we did it! I know you enjoyed it. I miss you so much. I miss mummy too. It is a privilege to miss you both and to reflect on our lives together. I thank God for you.

Today, my mother would’ve turned 84, had she been alive. Try as I might, I cannot imagine what it would’ve been like if she’d still been around. She was dealing with a progressive illness, and eighteen years ago when she died because of it, her body had already been ravaged quite severely. I have the same illness but not to the same degree, and even so, I can see progression in the space of a year, two, or five. What would eighteen years have been like for her with her illness, I cannot imagine. I dare not.

I spent the day clearing out old photo albums. I took some digital shots of photos, where possible. But for a lot, it was just impossible. Some photos were so old and faded. I’m in the process of destroying those, but I’ve already chucked four huge albums. I don’t know how many more I have to clear out- there’s quite a few.

It was nostalgia that I felt as I looked through some of the photos. Seeing my parents in shots of times gone past was bittersweet. I found myself fascinated by the both of their smiles. I remember things shared from photographs before my time, or from when I was very young. I remember some photos – exactly how it was at the time they were taken, even. It feels so unreal that my mother hasn’t been around for the last eighteen years, and that my dad passed away almost ten months ago. It is so hard to imagine the chunk of time that has gone by. It hurts to know I cannot turn back the clock at any point. All I have is to look forward to the future.

This June is going to be a tough one. I’ve been in tears for a lot of the day, though there have been some good chats in between. My dad’s birthday is coming up later this month. I was trying to figure out why I felt so restless. I think I know why. Initially, the restlessness was because there was no birthday to celebrate for mum. Now, this has extended to papa. It’s like a cancellation of something that is a part of my bones. It doesn’t feel right at all. I’m glad for all the times I got to celebrate them during their birthdays. I am sad, so sad, that I can’t do this anymore. This is an example of the new normal. It isn’t something I can replace or change. I remember my parents on their birthdays – it is all I can do.

There is no going back in time. No Avengers-styled time machine or Back to the Future chapters to live out. When I think about those movies, all I can say is that travelling back in time is exhausting. It comes across that way. It isn’t what we’re meant to do. Not even Captain America’s rousing speeches will make me change my mind there. I’m thankful for what has happened. I’m thankful for the parents I have. These days I give thanks to God for the blessing He bestowed me in the both of them. There are a lot of memories imprinted in my heart that are constantly being triggered by different things. As I embrace these memories and look upon what has happened, I am able to say that I feel grateful. Amidst the sadness I feel, I recognise a feeling of gratefulness to God for my parents and for what I have to look forward to.

Whilst looking back may bring me tears of pain mingled with joy, looking forward brings me a sense of gratitude and awe. I believe my future, and that of my parents, was secured by Jesus on the cross. It’s a big sense of relief because I know that He is faithful and true. It makes no sense unless you’re convicted of this truth. I am convicted. Both my mum and dad are secure with Him, as am I.

I recently went on a retreat with my colleagues, and one of the sessions involved us tracing God’s hand in our work lives as we looked back on our previous jobs to our present roles. I thought this was a good exercise and it must have been in my subconscious as I looked at the old photographs today. I could see how the Lord has been gracious to the three of us, especially. I remembered so many things in these photos- words said, things done, blessings even when things felt terrible. It’s making me realise that I do not need to travel back in time. I have a God who is in control of all things, and who is trustworthy. So I want to surrender these feelings and emotions from this season of grief, as well as the season itself, to Him.

Papa and mummy- I miss you so much because I cannot celebrate your birthdays. It’s a big part of my life that is missing. But I will trust in God as you taught me to. We will meet again. Here’s to looking forward in faith. Love you!

There’s a pain in my heart that heightens,

As people celebrate Mother’s Day

It’s a stark reminder that you aren’t here.

You’ve not been around for a long time.

Mum, it’s been eighteen years,

But my heart will always feel sorrow,

When I recall it’s you I’ve lost.

The pain in my heart is sharper this year,

Papa’s also not here,

His absence which is so very recent,

Makes yours feel oh so near.

I feel a dark cloud following me,

I miss the both of you so very much,

There are still many tears for me to cry.

As there’s a celebration of mothers,

I want to praise God for you,

I thank Him for your mind, mum,

Praise Him for the wisdom He granted you.

In all I do and go through,

Your words are loud and clear.

For lessons on Jesus, I thank you.

I wonder how you and papa are,

in a world of no more pain and tears?

Do you miss me as I miss you?

Oh mum, I’m in such pain! I have fears!

Thank You, Jesus, for my mum and dad,

You gave me so much, Lord,

I am so grateful for what I had.

Happy Mother’s Day, mummy. I miss you and papa so much.

Written by: Anita Stephen (as I remember my mum and dad on my first Mother’s Day without either of them)

Early yesterday morning, I managed to take Gamora to her favourite park. It’s not very close to home. Without traffic, it takes us 25-30 minutes, and even though Gamora complains (especially when the car stops – even at a traffic light!), she really loves the park and it’s a worthwhile trip.

I was feeling quite low that morning. It’s been a busy period at work, and I had an online event some days ago. Usually, when things get hectic at work, my dad’s check-ins are really helpful. They’re super basic too- whether I’ve eaten, taken a moment to stand and stretch, etc. Very calm, quiet questions that make me remember to breathe. This time round, it was very obvious to me that this was absent. It’d be 3:00pm and I’d feel a sudden pang of hunger, only to realise I’d not had lunch. It’s hitting me – papa’s gone. It’s real. He’s not here anymore.

Additionally, there’s been a lot going on at work and some things have gone really well. I cannot say the number of times that I started to say something to my dad to let him know. After mummy passed, I really missed her in such conversations. I’d have conversations with papa and in a quiet moment try to remember mummy and what she’d have said. That hurt has never really left- it’s a regular visitor, but now it feels like the significance of the grief visitor has intensified so much more because I don’t have papa.

It’s hard to say what I want at this time. The work event has gone well- and I feel a sense of wonder and joy. Wonder because I know it’s God who’s worked things out. Joy because I’ve been a part of it. He let me be. So – there’s no discontent there. I’ve also started feeling better after such a horrible struggle with an RA flare that started after papa’s passing. Physically, I’ve been able to go for lovely walks with Gamora and do things around the house. I’ve also been able to go back to church, which is good- to engage with my community in person. I even attended an in-person meet for my grief support group because I was well enough to do so. Yet the feeling is that something big is missing. It is real. My dad’s not here anymore.

Papa’s absence is hard to take on its own. Papa’s departure makes mummy’s passing real all over again. So it’s not just one fresh wound but the opening up of an old wound that I’ve to contend with. Oh papa, oh mummy. I’m this way because it’s all feeling real. You’re not here anymore.

Anyone who knows me, knows I talk so much about God. I keep batting on about Him. Where does He fit in all this? I think that morning, when I was in the park with Gamora, I had a glimpse of how He fits in.

I’m not sure if the flowers I saw are water lilies or lotuses, but there were a few delicate pink ones standing on their own amidst a lot of dying ones. They held a sense of elegance amidst the obvious fragility of their lives. There was beautiful white one all on its lonesome, yet somehow it felt like a flourishing loner. And the colours in the park today. We were early, but because of how hot it’s been and thanks to the storm we had last night, the sky was a brilliant blue with gentle traces of white clouds. Oddly enough, what struck me then was a rather weather beaten tree. It didn’t look like it had lots of green leaves for its trunk and branches seemed to have overtaken it somehow. Felt so much like the trials of life beating down on it, but it stood strong. Yet, there a strange but pretty growth in it that almost added beauty to a rather dull trunk of another tree, which added unexpected colour to it. It was as I was surrounded by nature that I understood a little the life that He’s given me. Fragile, yet elegant. Thriving, yet lonesome. Weather-beaten, yet strong. And in the midst of darkness, some splashes of colour. It struck me that there is loveliness and good even when it’s dark and painful.

Recently, one of the pastors from my church joined some of colleagues and me for a devotion session we had. He referred us to Psalm 34, which is a Psalm of my favourite king David. It’s a poignant Psalm and it was written just after the time when David pretended to be a madman to elude enemies. I’ve been pondering on Psalm 34 which is a powerhouse Psalm to unpack. In my present state of mind, it strikes me that after bearing the humiliation of feigning madness to escape an enemy, and while he is in hiding, David manages a boast in the Lord (verse 1). The boast doesn’t come at a time when David’s leading a good life as king in his palace. It comes when he’s at a low and is living in the shadows of caves. There is a call at this point of lowness to magnify and exalt the Lord (verse 2). That’s staggering. The ability to look upon God when he’s in a terrible low period is beyond belief. It is precisely because he’s doing this and finding a sense of peace and perhaps, even beauty, that he’s able to make another staggering claim in verse 8: ‘Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good.’ There is loveliness even when it is dark and painful. The verse that clenches the deal for me is verse 18, where David reminds us that ‘The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.’ This speaks to me. It is when David is low and broken, when his comforts aren’t with him that he takes refuge in the Lord. It is when he is crushed and brokenhearted that he’s able to taste the Lord – and the LORD is good! It speaks to me of the circumstances that I find most dreadful now – a life without my parents, when I’ve just suffered a rather recent loss of my dad, and when I’m feeling crushed and brokenhearted. I don’t think David’s circumstances changed very quickly after that – but he did find the LORD good! Some of the verses of Psalm 34 are prophetic – and we see them coming to be in Jesus. The last verse of the Psalm tells us that ‘The LORD redeems the life of his servants; none of those who take refuge in him will be condemned.’ That is the promise sealed by the death and resurrection of Jesus. It is the promise of life with him- it’s not speaking of the here and now but of a future that is guaranteed to all who put their trust (take refuge) in Him.

What now? I guess I’ll keep going through this life according to the circumstances that God has granted me. I must count my blessings. I feel that God has sent me so many amazing people. Whilst it’s true that some friends just haven’t been there very much, there have been so many others. This has been a blessing- as I navigate the caves that I’m in at the moment. I have to say that there are many moments when I am in awe of God and His goodness. It feels like there has been a steady supply of grace to meet my needs. I am grateful. I must also look to the future. Life as we know it is full of decay. The walk in the park in the park reminded me of that. Psalm 34 reminds me of the grace and the promise that I have in Christ. Indeed, there is loveliness and beauty even in this darkness.

To my father – I wish, I wish, I wish you were here. I miss your presence so much.

To my mother – I wish, I wish, I wish all this time stopped the desire to be with you and chat as we used to. It hasn’t.

Thank you both for bringing me up in this faith. I thank Jesus for you.