Author: anitastephen2015

Right now, I want to be elsewhere. I want to go home. It’s exactly eighteen years today (7 January 2024), since my mum passed away and it’s just about four and a half months since my dad passed on. My home as I know it is no more. It’s such a strange cocktail of emotions, I feel I want to burst. It’s a lot to take in.

This morning, I took little Gamora out for a walk. I decided I would skip church and give myself a break from conversations that would potentially make me have to blink back tears. I could be Waterworks Ltd., and specialise in the production of salty tears. The weather forecast said cloudy with a chance of drizzle, and I thought it would mean a less crowded park. How wrong I was. The park was full of people. Families came out in droves to have picnics, kids played in the kiddie area, people fished by the lake, while some avid joggers and brisk walkers moved swiftly and rather efficiently through the masses.

Walking with Gamora is lovely. She delights in every thing and it’s infectious. As we walked near the lake, it felt calm- even though Gamy girl’s (one of Gamora’s many nicknames) ears and tongue flopped ferociously. I thought of my parents. My dad didn’t speak much about my mum after she passed. It wasn’t his thing. Yet, every December, I start reliving the events that led up to the moment she passed. I would tell my dad that such and such was the date that I flew off to the UK, and that such and such was the date my best friend married her beau, and that such and such was the date I started trying get a flight back, such and such was the date we took mummy to hospital, etc. Papa would hold my hand or hug me or pat my back. I miss him as I’ve continued missing mummy. Home as I knew it was altered in 2006 when mummy left, but it was still home, just beaten and weathered. This recent alteration because of papa’s passing, affects adjustments I’ve made in heart and mind. My home is no more. It’s gone.

As Gamora and I walked, she spotted a group of people who were walking their dogs of which there were four in total. Gamora’s ever the social butterfly and made strides to go towards these other doggies. It’s interesting to see how doggies interact. There’s a whole lot of caution at first which includes all sorts of signals to show that it’s a friendly approach. Then there’s a short burst of play and they settle down into a calm time where they continue in each other’s presence. We all walked together, which was fun for Gamora- walking in a pack. Her tongue lolled about and she looked like a giant bunny jumping about instead of a pup running along. I was proud of her because even a very timid doggie found her approachable. We even got the dogs to take a pic together. And then, all of a sudden, everything was too much for Gam-Gam (another of Gamora’s nicknames) and she turned around wanting me to carry her. It was in that moment that my heart broke. That’s what I’m missing right now as I mourn eighteen years without mummy. Papa’s not here to comfort me.

After we parted ways, I took Gamora on the scenic route back to the car. My mind was in a buzz. In Psalm 90:12, the Psalmist asks God to ‘teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.’ There are many aspects to wisdom. For me now, as I grieve eighteen years without my mum and some months without my dad, the wisdom I need is in navigating pain. I’m cognisant of the fact that the only thing that is constant and unchanging is God. The words in Isaiah 40: 6-8 speak to me: ‘A voice says, “Cry!” And I said, “What shall I cry?” All flesh is grass, and all its beauty is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades when the breath of the LORD blows on it; surely the people are grass. The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever.’ Focus on God isn’t always easy. I try. I need His grace.

Eighteen years feel like a long time for many things, but they don’t feel like a long time ago when I remember my mum’s passing. It’s raw still where my dad’s concerned- and I’m resigned to having these emotions within me for a long time to come. Just as my little Gamora needed me to hold her in my arms for a bit (even in the middle of enjoyment), I need comfort too. Up to eighteen years ago, it was my mum and dad who provided it, and then up to four months ago, it was my dad. I recognise that there was Jesus there all the way, because flawed individuals cannot provide such comfort to one another. So I am thankful to Him for that. I now seek His grace as I adjust to His comfort. He continues to provide comfort in ways I don’t know, or through channels I can’t foresee. I must trust Him to continue with His provision. I’m thankful to Jesus for various people in my life, who remind me that this provision hasn’t run out. I’m thankful to Jesus for Gamora and the darling she is. I continue to be thankful for my parents.

Mummy, your leaving changed our home so much. Now papa is with you in rest, things have changed even more. I miss you so much. That’s never going to change.

Usually the whole Christmas period is a reflective one for me. Long ago, when my mum was alive, we’d have some massive open houses. The scale of cooking was unbelievable and by the end of the day, we could hardly feel our feet for the soreness. Yet, my parents and I would sit down together and enjoy the quiet of the night by chatting. We’d reflect on the events of the day, hope that we’d welcomed our visitors well, and always end on the real meaning of Christmas. They would always say that however scrappy and messy that first Christmas was in a stable, everyone was welcome. It was a good reminder. I loved those times so much. Over the years, things changed, as my mum’s illness progressed. We didn’t have massive open houses anymore, but we always had some friends over. The winding down moments were still so special and the sentiments expressed never changed.

In January 2006, my mum passed away. My world collapsed. There’s a lot I lost then that I’ve never regained. It took me a long time to understand all that. I remember too the pressure I felt to be okay. Everyone wants you to be okay! I remember the saree I wore to church. I made such a huge effort – more than usual. I even managed to go to a cousin’s home with my dad, armed with presents and cheer. I remember too very clearly how I crumbled by my dad when we got home. We chatted very little… he just hugged me close and patted my back. I knew then that things had changed forever.

My dad and I got back into a rhythm of sorts. It took time for us to do this. Think he went along at my speed, which I think was tortoise like. We didn’t always join the wider family celebrations on Christmas Day. Mostly it was too painful for me to be where I was consistently reminded of my mum’s absence. However, I wanted to continue opening up our home to friends – and we did this, slowly but surely. I remember how friends came alongside me to help me with prep. I remember calming words spoken to me. I remember my dad telling me that as long as we remember the real reason for Christmas in our hearts, it was okay. We’d also continue our reflections. As he got older, my dad would sometimes excuse himself and go to bed, even while guests were around. He had started getting tired. Friends understood, of course. Long after he went off to bed, when our guests left, I’d go to his room and find him awake, waiting for me. We’d chat about how it all went, how it used to be, and why we celebrate Christmas.

This year, is my seventeenth Christmas without my mum and my first without my dad. It really hurt. It hurts to even think of the new year. I’m not ready to walk into 2024. It feels like I have to leave so much behind.

It’s been a very quiet Christmas and lead up to the new year. I’ve had family and friends dropping by and even staying over. I went to church on Christmas Day, with a cousin. We played with Gamora, had some food, and watched stuff on Netflix. It’s been lovely taking Gamora for walks. I’m trying my hand at gardening – with a handful of plants. I’m delighted when I see something sprouting, as I’ve been known to even kill cactuses. I’ve been trying to do some art. Nothing too fancy. I’ve been doing a whole load of things to keep busy. I miss my father and my mother so much right now.

Now we’re at the end of 2024. I don’t have the secret to slowing down time. Doubt there’s one. It hurts me that I’m going to be moving away from my parents in a way like never before. I had my dad for a long time. It’s not going to be the same without him. Not in the least.

There’s some unkindness around. People want me to move on and not cry. They tell me my parents would be upset by my sadness. I’ve been quite busy blocking contact with such ones. I know that my mum and dad would never want me to be sad but I know that they would understand better than others, why it is I’m sad. I know too that God understands this process.

Loss is something that God endured – in what was the most unnatural thing to an omnipotent being. I know there’s mercy. There’s been a lot of God’s grace coming through right now through understanding from family or friends that I’m not really up for parties or going out to busy places. There have been some really lovely visits with good conversation and even laughs. There have been phone calls and messages that have come at apt times. There’s little Gamora who turned one at the beginning of December, and who’s such a gorgeous pup with lots of joy and mischief. There’s the memory of my mum and dad, that at present reduces me to tears – but one that I truly love. There’s the Christmas message of reconciliation between God and man, and hope in a time to come. I weep at this now – its truth moves me, and it is what I must hold on to.

I am not excited about 2024. Yet, I do trust in God to go before me, and for Him to use the challenge I face in moving ahead with this grief to draw me closer to Him. I’m sure I won’t live up to most people’s expectations, but I’m okay with that. Thankfully, the experience from grieving mum has helped me be a better advocate for myself as I grieve dad as well now. I’m going to reflect on what I’ve lost through the lens of my faith, and do what I need to in 2024 that’s helpful and beneficial for this.

It’s a rainy Thursday evening as I write this. Perhaps the weather is matching my mood. I have felt rather like Eeyore, walking around with my very own rain cloud hanging over my head. It’s not a great feeling. Eeyore, as we know, is not full of happiness and joy.

Today, 7 December, is my parents’ wedding anniversary. It has been awhile since we celebrated it. After all, my mum passed away in 2006. Yet, dad and I would acknowledge the date. With my dad, I usually made some kind of joke about how thankful he should be for the date coz it meant I was eventually born to him and my mum. He took it in good stride and usually gave me a big grin. The day was acknowledged. Today, I wasn’t able to do this. It was hard already for the last sixteen years to not wish my dad a happy anniversary, but today, to not even acknowledge the marriage of my parents was especially painful. It hit me so hard.

This morning, I took little Gamora out for a walk. I tried super hard to keep busy with work, and in between that, getting the laundry done. It’s been really hard-going because I’m feeling such high levels of pain, it’s not funny. I don’t know how I’m going to manage my emotions any better. I’m doing all the right things, according to the counsellor I’m seeing, the stuff I’m reading, and the podcasts I’m listening to. I guess I cannot expect the process to take away the experience of pain. This is all I’m left with.

Today, as I’ve been pondering about this feeling of extreme sadness I’m facing now, I wonder how I can ever expect to share my faith. Bereavement is an example of suffering- and as I’ve often said there are many, many different types of suffering. I guess it’s easy to dismiss God as uncaring. We often hear of people saying that one of the reasons why they don’t believe in God is because He allows suffering. I wonder now if I’m adding to the reason for the question.

There are many characters in the Bible that we’re often pointed to, who have become huge lesson-bearers to those of us who follow in the faith. You have the likes of Job, Joseph, the apostle Paul, just to name a few. Joseph, I sometimes admire and I sometimes find too hard to understand. In fact, there are times when what he says to his brothers in Genesis 50:20 (about how what they meant for evil against him, God meant it for good), both amazes and puzzles me. I mean, after all his suffering, to be able to see that God brought good out of it is just staggering. When I was younger and a lot less patient, I used to think him smug and annoying as he said that. It’s hard though, to apply what Joseph says in my own life. It is very unlikely that a nation will be saved through any of my suffering – like it was for Joseph, or even how mankind is saved through Jesus.

I think of Job- the loss of his entire family resonates deeply with me. Job’s friends don’t do a great job comforting him. I’m more blessed there. I receive comfort. Job’s suffering wasn’t a result of some kind of judgment against him. I have been pondering this, if my losing both parents is judgment against me. I don’t feel this to be the case at all. I’m still a sinful creature in need of sanctification and refining, but I cannot see that God is punishing me through the loss I’m experiencing. In a sermon by my favourite Tim Keller, who passed away in May this year, I remember him saying that when satan brought suffering into Job’s life, he did it to discredit Job before God, but that God used that suffering to lift Job up – the complete opposite to what satan attempts to do. I’m quite sure I’m not saying it as eloquently as Tim Keller, and I really should look for the sermon and listen to it again! But it does make me pause and wonder if this is why God has allowed me this suffering. I know that when my mum passed away and as I struggled with it, it was in my deepest moments of grief that I really felt grace and mercy. It was really when the pangs of pain hit me that I was drawn in closer to God. I know that those moments were amazing. Perhaps it is this that is happening. If I take that to be the case, then I cannot accuse God of not caring or being unmerciful towards me. I know that I have never been so sure of His existence and mercies as I have when I’ve encountered Him in my valleys. I can perhaps recognise that His grace is indeed sufficient for me and trust that He will work all things out for those who believe. I may not be able to acknowledge my parent’s’ wedding anniversary in the way I want to, but I can definitely acknowledge God’s work in me even through this grief. Perhaps this is what I can share.

Now that December is here, everything around us will go into a Christmas mode. There are some who may have already put up their decorations and may be well into shopping and whatever prep there is for the season. For others, this is probably the signal to start planning. Some others may still sit on their laurels and contribute to the later rush of things. What’s Christmas shopping and prep without a bit of stress? For some, it’s time to don their Grinch impersonations and turn a nose at Christmas. For yet some others, this is an incredibly painful and difficult season.

I’ve always loved Christmas. As a Christian, I’m grateful for the birth of the Christ child, which marks the hope given to mankind for reconciliation with God. The price of reconciliation is heavy and we see that over Good Friday and Easter. Perhaps it’s easier to fall in love with Christmas because it is the arrival of a baby. The story of the nativity, where a young couple gets turned away from every inn, even when the lady is heavily pregnant, tugs at heartstrings. The context of the pregnancy- the way she was found with child prior to marriage, total submission to the will of God, and the man standing by her in obedience to God’s will adds to the feeling of concern for the couple, and a desire for them to catch a break. The story is reproduced year after year – whether by believers or nonbelievers. Whatever twists and turns they may add to the scene, the stage is set and the story is moving. Saying this, I also love the fanfare at Christmas. The secular celebrations that make everything look so beautiful. The period where people come together and meet over food and drink. I love it. I’m guilty of planning for my Christmas parties very far ahead. There’s a place for these celebrations too, that steer clear from a messy barn where the Christ child is eventually born.

This year, though, I’m dreading Christmas. It feels too soon after my dad’s passing. It took us a long time to really get into a rhythm of celebrations after losing my mum. Suddenly there were two from what was already a small family of three. Now, it’s just me. My dad’s quiet and reserve meant he was happy with a quiet day, where we went to church and perhaps came back for a meal. I liked the fanfare and he totally went along with it for my sake. This year, everything has changed. I can’t handle the thought of getting some mince pies coz he’s not around now to share in the treat. We’d bring them out quite late in the evening, while we were chilling, and discuss some Christmas plans over this. I’ve no idea why we needed to talk so much about what time church started, what time would be best to leave home, etc. I feel like there’s a full stop to my way of celebrations.

Thankfully, how I feel right now doesn’t dissipate the real meaning of Christmas. Rather, it gives me a moment of gratitude because of the hope that I have in Christ, that my dad like my mum who went before, shared. It’s perhaps too soon just yet for me to say I feel like rejoicing as a result of that hope- though I am grateful for it. I am very grateful. I find myself in tears when I am reminded of the glorious resurrection that awaits believers and the reunion I’ll have with my mum and dad. I look forward to that. But now – I’m here, without them. This is hard to bear.

This is why this year, I’m dreading Christmas. I don’t feel like buying presents and I certainly don’t want to receive any. I can’t bear to think of carollers, games, parties, or outfits. I cannot imagine being away from home as we usually host family or friends. Equally, I cannot imagine being at home, without my dad. I know I spend some time at Christmas every year pining for my mum. Now my list of who I pine for has grown. I don’t even want to send Christmas greetings, and I certainly don’t think I’ll know what to do when I receive them. It’s going to be terrible because my home is shattered, even if I trust in Jesus.

I’m not the only one who’s facing loss. There’s all sorts of loss: loss of employment, loss of relationships for reasons such as bereavement, divorce, toxicity, etc., loss of health – whether it is long or short term or whether it even recoverable, financial loss, etc. I’m sure during seasons of celebration, these losses are highlighted and the sadness feels overwhelming. I’m convinced of the truth of Christmas- God came down to be with us and to save us. As I mourn the loss of Christmas at home, I know that I will one day rejoice in a home I cannot even begin to fathom. I’m not despairing, as much as I dread the Christmas season. Perhaps that is what the hope of the Christ child is – not to despair in the face of dread, for the reality of the world is such – there’s beauty in many aspects of life, but there’s also an exceedingly large, complex amount of grief. I’m not sure how else to go about these days as I hold the truths of life, forgiveness, and unwarranted grace alongside heartbreak, tears, and dread. I am very grateful that there’s not just the later to deal with – and for that, I guess I can look at the real reason for Christmas with hope for the future.

For some reason, I’ve been pondering on a passage from Joshua 5: 13-15. Joshua encounters Jesus (the Angel of the Lord) in impressive fashion- a far cry from the baby in the manger. This encounter happens as Joshua looks upon the city of Jericho as an old man, perhaps remembering how in his youth, he’d been sent in as a spy (Numbers 13). Jericho remained a fortified city, large, and intimidating. It was fear that set the rest of the spies against entering Jericho, their pathway into the promised land (Numbers 14). The sin of the Israelites then was to be so fearful that they wouldn’t proceed into Jericho – not even when God was with them. As a result, no one from that generation, save Joshua and Caleb, were allowed back in later. So as an old man with experience, Joshua now stands before Jericho once again. He meets Jesus (the Angel of the Lord- Joshua 5: 13-15). In typical human fashion, and in true Hollywood style, the question Joshua asks is ‘are you for us or against us?’ ‘Neither’ comes the reply. ‘I’m the commander of the army of the Lord and I am here.’ I can almost picture this entire scene in my head. It is gripping to say the least. The choice is now Joshua’s. How does he respond? He falls down in worship and says ‘command me.’ This speaks to me. I know the promised land is secure – my future inheritance, which is totally undeserved and awarded me by grace is secure. However, I must go through this life to get there. I no longer have my supports of my mum and dad. I can imagine how much Joshua would’ve loved to have Moses by his side again. I have experience too, through this encounter Joshua had with Jericho. Everything feels intimidating and scary. I feel like fleeing. However, because of Christmas, I have Jesus with me (Emmanuel). I have him not as a snuggly baby, but as the commander of the armies of the Lord. Whilst I feel a sense of dread over Christmas and what lies ahead, in my heart, I feel the only way for me is to say ‘command me.’

Papa, your leaving me has really brought a new age for me. I don’t have you or mummy here. It’s painful. Thank you both for teaching me about Jesus. I too will say ‘command me.’ Love you both.

7 November 2023 was exactly a year since I put Loki down. I’m sad about Loki, but when I woke up on that day (and every day since I lost my dad), the one thought that has dominated my mind is my dad. Loki matters, of course, but my dad is by far more significant. Every day, there’s an overwhelming lowness that envelopes me. I’m in need of solace.

There’s been a lot happening on the health front. Inflammation levels are going haywire coz of the stress from the grief I’m feeling, and it’s resulting in much higher levels of pain and fatigue. The physical setback bothers me, because it wasn’t an even playing ground to begin with. This has been difficult to take. I’m in need of a miracle.

As I reflect on how it’s been, the way my RA (rheumatoid arthritis) has left me floundering for a bit, I feel a pang of pain deep within. My usual comforts at home are no longer there. Neither mum nor dad are around anymore. I’ve been thankful for my aunts and cousins. They’ve come out with me to or to pick me from hospital in the middle of the storms that have been happening here. There’s been home cooked food, help with things I need to do at home, and visits to see me and Gamora. Some of my friends have popped by at different points too- and these have been great. Some have been in constant communication. I have some of the loveliest people around. I recognise that there are many blessings to count. Still there is a sadness that I feel. The blow that death has dealt me is harsh. As blessed as I am, I’m in need of comfort.

Life is so hard, when I think about it. Sure, we have some great things: family, friends, dogs, birthdays, anniversaries, late night phone calls/chats, holidays, beaches, etc. What an inexhaustible list of wonderful things we have to look forward to. However, not all we have to look forward to is wonderful. There’s death, illness, pain and suffering of immeasurable measure and for various reasons. These all happen on individual or large scales. It’s nuts. Yet, most of the time, unless the suffering impacts us directly, we’re able to go on with life and see its goodness. It’s almost unbelievable how life goes on in the middle of all the chaos. We’re in need of peace and calm.

Grief feels different for different people. We experience the world and all its beauties so differently. We have such intricately diverse existences. In diverse fashion, we grieve different losses of varying degrees. Sometimes the grief is simultaneous. It gets tricky when things overlap. Your mind finds it hard to distinguish one thing from another. We’re in need of heaps of grace.

How often have I referred to grace? I mean grace from God. The God of the Bible both in the harsh contexts of the Old Testament and in the more direct but still quite bizarre contexts of the New Testament is constantly known as the God of grace. It is so hard to swallow this when we look around us and see life decaying – whether by old age, illness, and a whole host of other variables. It’s hard to imagine the existence of grace when we’re crushed or in our low times. We’re in need of faith.

It can’t be just me (in my present low state), and I’m sure that so many others too, who feel the unbearable weight of our existence. I’m prone to reflecting on life in light of my faith. Am hoping that the later informs the former. Often the former impacts the later for me instead of the other way round. The blows life deals my faith are quite painful and often feel like a pummelling. How can I process this sadness? This is when I’m informed of the grace bestowed upon me and the world through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. More than once, He demonstrated that the darkness of our circumstances could not and would not overtake the light He brought into them. The light He brought seemed to have been diminished so cruelly when He was crucified. Such darkness enveloped the earth. For all who believed, it felt like fate dealt them a cruel, cruel hand. Thankfully, as believers know, the story didn’t end there. The light was raised up and restored. We need this hope.

The restoration of Jesus to His rightful throne is the light that fuels me in this time of darkness. I guess I don’t need to have the fear of missing out because of this season of grief. It’s okay if things aren’t okay for some time, though I pray with all my heart for the chance to feel lighter and happier again. The restoration of Jesus gives me hope for a similar restoration with all my loved ones. I’m especially looking forward to meeting my mum and dad again, though I cannot imagine it and the thought of it brings tears to my eyes. Tears of sadness for how much I’m missing them, and tears of hope for this present pain to end. It makes me think that perhaps as a result of this horrible sadness, there is a heightened sense of the grace that flows from God. I’m a recipient of grace.

My father’s passing leaves a gaping hole in my life. It brings up all other loss too – my mum and granny, especially, and the loss of some of my blessings like Loki and Patches, and health, even. Please don’t ask me how I am or comment on how well I’m coping. These are impossible questions for me to answer, and they make me what to throw up. Just know that there’s a battle going on within – between the brokenness and darknesses in my life with the light of salvation promised to me by Jesus Christ. I’m in need of grace. I’m a recipient of grace.

Today is exactly two months since my dad passed on. I’ve at points felt time zipping past as so many other things come flying in my direction. I’ve also felt time stand still- almost like I’m stuck in the 23rd of August 2023. Neither feeling suits. Neither feels right.

Things are not right. Not in the least. Not for me, anyway. Another significant part of me feels dead – and despite the way I’ve tried to thrust myself into getting back on the saddle by continuing with plans and really trying to be a part of things, I cannot stop the way I’m being dragged down so low. There have been some good things too: good news from friends about their situations. I’m wishing I could be as happy as I know I could for them, but I’m failing to hit that high. There have been some good things for me too. Maybe my usual reactions to these are by far muted. It cannot be helped.

A friend came by today. It was good to have her here. We’re both grieving – and maybe that is why her company really helps. Another friend messaged me today and she said some very real words. She said she wished she had the words to comfort me, but that the reality was she didn’t. I appreciated her honesty on this – no fluffing about. My cousins have been in communication too, as well as some other friends from near and far. I wish I could tell them how much their messages mean to me, at this time when my heart is breaking. I feel like I’m walking around with a cloud over my head, and these souls are like temporary respites from the storm. Yet – it’s not fair to keep telling them my sorrows. Life is hard even on a good day. They’ve got stuff to deal with too.

Everything has changed. Now that my dad’s gone, it feels like maybe there’s another wave of things that will happen. A lot of it are things that I don’t want to deal with. I thank God at how neatly my dad left his affairs. It’s one things less for me to deal with. Yet – there are many other things that I cannot control: work goes on, friends react in ways that are unimaginable, the speed of things happening all around me is crazy – I cannot cope. The list is endless. Saying that, if I’m honest, I’m finding it hard to stay still too. Perhaps it means looking at the situation I’m in.

I know that I’ve probably watched too many movies in the last few weeks. I want nothing complicated: just some good guys, bad guys and not a lot of words. I don’t want anything sad and I certainly am not finding too many things comical right now. I’m giving myself a pass at the Netflix binging right now because I need the reprieve. I want everything to just stop for awhile. But even when they do, it’s only for so long. I want things to stop for a long time.

Nothing will stop. Not in the way I need it to. That is the reality. The release I have is that my prayers need not be sanitised. It may have been something I struggled with in the past. Don’t think I’m struggling too much there now. It is such a blessing to have God to whom I can howl and cry out to. It’s almost as if time stops for me as I do this. That has been so helpful. I’ve not had to worry about what I say to Him. He will show me the way – there is no doubt there. It’s taken such a significant loss for me to get to this point of unfiltered prayers. Jesus can take it in a way that no one else can: there is no offence or imagined hurt, there is no pontification, there is nothing that makes me feel like I need to leave the space. It is where I need to be, ugly as it is. For this, I’m grateful. Perhaps it’s precisely because we as humans need to keep moving, that makes it impossible for us to really meet needs of those who grieve or go through dark times. I think I would struggle to support someone feeling this way. The sheer discomfort of having to remain in that space is hard. In this space of unfiltered prayer, I can stop. I can sob. I can voice fears and dread. I can say nothing when there’s just emotions from within coming out with no words attached. I’m not feeling better just yet, but perhaps that is not the immediate goal of this space of honest prayer. Perhaps it is doing what I need as I stop and take my tears to God in prayer.

I miss my father so very much. His absence is hitting me so very hard. I’m writing this as I’m in the UK. I’ve come for a work trip and have had some great discussions with colleagues. It has been good to connect with them in person. I’ve also had some really special catch ups with very old friends who came out to meet me (it’s not been possible for me to meet with many others). Everyone has been a real balm to the soul. There have been some moments where they’ve commiserated with me. I’ve appreciated this because it isn’t easy to sit with someone in their grief. They gave me this space. There have been laughs, some good food, reminders of British weather that perhaps caused more laughs, some walks in pretty little places and some good conversations.

This trip has been a good change of scene on the one hand and on the other, it has brought up a deep pain from within. I’m missing my dad because I now can’t call home. In the past, I’d have called at every single point – from my arrival to the airport, to the point of dropping off my luggage, to clearing the first round of immigration, etc. Papa was genuinely keen to know. He’d ask me to call. The sense of loneliness that’s engulfing me as I experience this loss is so hard to explain. Perhaps my parents spoilt me. Almost eighteen years ago, when mum passed on, I felt the strain of her loss on our home. It took a lot of getting used to but I still had certain things: I could, for instance, call home. It was different, but I could call home. Papa would answer. Now I can’t. My heart feels so very heavy with this grief and part of me wonders how to bear it. I’ve not been able to report back every day on how it’s been – not the way I’m used to. I’ve not been able to share little joys I’ve felt during this time of travel. Whilst I find things pretty, I’m strangely underwhelmed by it all. I fly back soon and there’s no dad awaiting me with eagerness. By now, any phone conversation would be littered with my going home. I have only little Gamora to hug so very tightly this time and whilst I am grateful for the welcome I’ll have from her, it feels incomplete. I miss my dad.

I’m finding this so very hard right now. In many ways, I think that even feeling this sadness and being able to advocate space for myself to grieve, has been a blessing. When mum died, too many voices tried to drown out the grief process. It was unhelpful and rather unhealthy. I know that the loneliness Jesus felt on the cross far exceeds anything I’m feeling or will ever feel. I also know that the grief felt in the loss of His Father through the total abandonment on the cross is on a scale greater and deeper than anything that I’m capable of feeling. I know. I believe it is because of this loneliness, this grief of separation and loss, this pain so searing and great that Jesus felt, those of us who believe in Him will never experience it permanently. My mum believed in Jesus. My dad believed in Jesus. They taught me to believe in Jesus. I know this means a day when there is no more pain. It doesn’t mean there is no time to grieve now. It is the time of grief and dark days for me for awhile, perhaps. It may be for longer than I hope. However, I know that I will rejoice in being reunited with my parents once again.

This is how I grieve: I’m crying painful, hot tears right now because of my present circumstances. Yet, I’m hopeful even now, with this assurance given to me by a God so big and gracious, that my tears will be wiped away. I can only await the day.

I miss my father. I miss him a lot.

My dad was quiet but we had many interactions along the course of the day. Some of these were mundane. Others not so. He kept me updated on the news. It’s been over a month since I knew what was going on in the world or in my own country. The honest truth is, right now, I just cannot be bothered. It doesn’t feel very important in the scheme of things.

I’ve not watched a single football match. I’m not sure how I can. My dad was always with me. We talked about the matches, complained or celebrated how the game went. We praised our players and coach. Right now – I don’t know where in the Premier League we stand. It doesn’t feel very important in the scheme of things.

They tell you that when you face hardship, you’ll find out who your friends are. This I found out first hand when my mum passed on almost 18 years ago. It shocked me at the time. I must say, it’s shocking me again. It’s been interesting to see how people come up to me or send me very upbeat “how are you?” messages. Really? I’ve just lost my dad. Life as I know it will never be the same again. Such a hard question as it shakes the person who has lost to the core. It feels so thoughtless.

It’s also very interesting to see how you get dropped. It happens- people stop coming by. They stop messaging or calling. A lot of these would’ve been the ones you expected to really come by, message or call a lot. A friend who has endured grief said she calls these ‘fair weather friends’. Maybe she’s right. I’m undecided just yet. I also think that quite a lot of people simply don’t know how to approach someone grieving. Some send me all sorts of random messages which are full of information about their day, the turn of the weather, the challenges at work, etc. It’s beyond me to comprehend right now. It just feels like random noise.

Some ask me what I want. Honestly? I’d like for everything to stop. I’d like to let out a gut-wrenching cry for this pain I feel in my heart. I don’t know what else I want. I find it hard to decide what to have for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. I’m very sure I’m not in the frame of mind to school them in how to approach the grieving. Some have tried to ask me for advice on issues they are facing. I’ve quietly sat through a couple of these, and I tried very hard to say the right things. I was even more exhausted after that. It was too big a burden for me. I’ve declined helping out with a couple of others and I’ve declined receiving help from those who wear me out. Some get angry with me when my response isn’t what they want. I can feel the coldness but at present, I cannot say I care. I’ve had to make some decisions to help myself maintain my strength. None of the things that affect my self preservation right now feel very important in the scheme of things.

We all grieve differently. I don’t for a minute propose that my grief is in any way deeper or more profound. We all grieve for our significant losses. I have appreciated the friends and family who have come by. My young nieces are here as I write this. Their laughter is something I love listening to. Some who come by or reach out have broken hearts too, with very recent losses. We’ve been able to talk about the way life has changed for us. Some have come by with food or have given me some afternoons or evenings of quiet, calm conversation. Nothing draining. Just consoling and nurturing. There have even been moments when we laugh. Gosh, I’ve appreciated these. Some have let me speak about my father. They’ve not made it taboo to bring him up. I am grateful when they let me talk about him. It helps.

It is through these diverse souls that I find I am being ministered to. A quiet conversation in a carpark, a coffee or lunch visit, some messages or calls to check if stuff can be sent. Hugs. It’s been much appreciated. My colleague and friend from church cannot know how God used her when she sent me a basket of flowers and fruit. I wanted fruit and was feeling nauseous but had no energy to go buy some. She had no idea of this and what she sent me met a need. How can I not see God in that? Some friends who live nearby sent me lunch – it was so easily done in that I didn’t have to make any decisions except to accept the hand that offered the help. I’m beyond grateful. That and the friends who brought or sent me a whole mix of things to make sure I could put stuff in a freezer for when I needed to eat, have been blessings. My bosses and colleagues who aren’t pushing me for stuff right now and who are being kind- so much needed. My cousin and aunt (Gamora’s fairy god mother and fairy god grandmother respectively) help me out with Gamora as we try to get new routines. For them too, significant loss was recent. Perhaps Gamora’s liveliness cheers them a little. I’ve a couple of friends who’re far away, one in the UK and the other in the US, who check in on me via WhatsApp. It really feels like they’re in the same room. Perhaps it’s because they’ve also seen significant loss that they say and do all the right things. It’s meant the world. In the scheme of things, all these have been amazing.

I cannot help but think of God. His diversity enables all this to happen. He appeared as fire to Moses in the burning bush, to Abraham when he sealed a covenant, and in Daniel’s vision. He was the pillar of fire that protected the Israelites at night. He was a pillar of cloud for the Israelites by day and when Moses went to Sinai. God was an earthquake to the imprisoned Paul and Silas, and even when Jesus died. God was the wind to Job, in the day of Pentecost, and was used in a lesson to Nicodemus. And he comes as a still small voice to Elijah. The amazing thing with Elijah, God shows us that He doesn’t only just start speaking into a situation. No. Initially, He sends an angel to feed Elijah. God does not come as an earthquake or fire or anything else at that point because it wasn’t what Elijah needed. Elijah needed sleep and food. God provided. This helps me as I receive help. Not all ‘help’ is good and helpful. Some of it is just the appearance of help. I must be wise – and I must remember how God does things. He is gentle on the soul. He cares for the broken-hearted. He’s not unkind and won’t seek to overwhelm my senses at this stage.

Mum’s passing gave me a bit of experience with grief. It isn’t the same now, given I’m in a different stage of life when I lost my dad. The pain that papa’s leaving brings is different. It is so painful. I can’t describe the dread inside when I think of going on without my dad. It has been hard enough without mum. These feelings and emotions must be allowed to be with me for awhile as an expression of how I feel after losing dad, and as I consider the impact of this loss on the rest of my life. They cannot be locked up or swept under a carpet. I won’t do that this time. It wasn’t the right move in the past. However, this time as I acknowledge these emotions, I see how God helps me through by sending me the care I need. It’s through souls that I’m very grateful for and I’m beyond appreciative that they aren’t in the fire, the earthquake or the wind. I’m grateful that the Lord has chosen to send them in the calm of the mornings, the stillness of the afternoons or in the quiet of the night.

I miss my father. I miss him a lot. I will grieve for him. This is the right thing to do. I’m grateful for those who are alongside me as I grieve.

It’s now one month since my dad passed on. Any illusions that I held of being immune to a broken heart after my mum’s passing has been obliterated. I never thought this heartbreak could happen again. I never imagined it possible.

This month has gone by at snail’s and lightening pace simultaneously. My head’s in a constant whirlwind- and my heart feels trapped in the morning of 23 August 2023. Since papa, there have been several other losses in our family- two cousins and an uncle. I cannot forget that another uncle passed away in March this year. My entire family has been impacted by such massive loss. We’re grieving. Each grief is different – the circumstances and consequences of the passing are different. Coping mechanisms are different. Characters involved are different. What is the same is that we’re all grieving. It’s not pretty.

In this past month, I’ve felt a deep sense of shock. It’s almost as if I believed that my dad was always going to be around. We’ve had some scrapes but God pulled him through every single time. I forgot that it was up to God to take him back. My dad kept trying to remind me of this. He talked about it a lot in the last 2-3 years. I could see his concern for me. He must’ve known how hard it would hit. When I look back at how things unfolded, I shudder because God’s Hand was clearly over it. Hindsight is perfect vision. I bought my dad a new smart TV a year before his 90th birthday as an early 90th present. The compulsion to do so was so strong- and I did it. It must’ve been God moving me to act. Papa had a good laugh over it, but he enjoyed that TV! Christmas last year was a fabulous celebration. I even cooked dinner for the family who came. Because of my RA, I worked out a schedule which included rest so that I could make our Christmas celebrations special. Papa was so happy – he had a great time. I remember telling some concerned friends who worried I was doing too much that I’d wanted to do it coz of my dad. Subconsciously- I knew we may not have many more Christmasses together. I wanted it to count. I’m glad we celebrated his 90th. I’m glad he had the exact sort of party he wanted at home. I’m glad family and friends near and far came by for him. He was very keen I celebrate my 50th and boy did he enjoy himself then. He was tired – but he’d had a good time. I cannot help but see how all these things and there are many more that I’ve not stated, came together for my dad. We even watched some old movies together. Until I was 15, my preferred film companion was my dad. He however, felt that it was important I started going for films with friends. So it was really good over the last six or so months of his life that we watched some older movies together. It was easier for him to follow with deteriorating hearing. I really enjoyed the time. Even as I share this, I feel a chill in my heart. God let us come full circle.

In August, some friends who migrated to Canada came back to Malaysia after six years. They visited us and it was very lovely. After they left, my dad and I talked about how lovely it’d been. He then brought up how worried he was that I’d not acted on migration desires for myself. He was quite thoughtful when I said that I’d have regretted living apart from mum or him. He patted my hand when I said I’d no regrets. I definitely am glad that I stayed put at home. There are no regrets there. As I reflect, I can see how much God gave me this time that I needed with my dad.

It’s been hard to think of how I feel as I consider all the other losses we’ve just had. My family has endured a lot. What a season. We’ re all having to make adjustments. Life has profoundly changed for us. There’s a hollowness in our homes, a vulnerability in our hearts, and these will never go. We’ll just get used to living with them. Of this, I’m certain, for I consider how it feels with my mum. I can function perfectly well and even have a good time, until I stop for a moment to heed the pang in my heart. That pang has gone on for over 17 years. It now feels like my entire heart has been ripped apart again. I wonder if I’ll ever feel whole.

My RA is flaring like crazy. I’m in so much pain, but….and there is a but…there’s a long list of things that I must do. My goodness- how organised my dad was! Everything’s in place. Little tokens of love left behind – money for something he wanted me to do left neatly in a drawer, documents he kept telling me about all arranged neatly in that drawer. No unnecessary clutter. Everything is crisp and clean. I see again how God guided papa here. It’s helpful to me. There’s no doubt of intent. Only clear vision and thoughtfulness. There’s that pang in my heart again. I’m in pain, but it’s all been organised so that I have the barest minimum to do.

My mind can’t cope with a lot of chatter and noise right now. I’m not interested in random chats at the moment. I cannot cope with random. I’m not interested in what people think I should do and how quickly they may want me to act. Yes, there are some deadlines that I must meet, and I will comply with those. Everything else will happen as I’m ready, and I’m trusting God with this. He will lead. He blessed me so well with a dad and mum who loved me like a miracle child. My heart hurts, but I want to also remember my family and friends who are grieving for their own losses. I want to stand in solidarity with them. I pray for this strength- to share with them the peace granted to me by grace. I don’t want to take on other emotionally draining things right now. I’m in mourning. It’s a month- yes. The world around me is spinning – life goes on. I’m in mourning and I want to honour this time of grief. I know that this is a period when God will draw me in even closer to Him. I so desire this. I want all else to stop for awhile. So I apologise now if I’m not meeting schedules or expectations. I’m on the second leg of my journey in grief. Jesus said in John 14:1: “Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me.” This is precisely what I will meditate on as I journey on the road of grief. It will be my work to figure out what the verse will look like if I live it out.

Papa, your presence is so deeply missed. I’m in tears almost all the time. Even when I went away, I wanted to cry because I didn’t have you to call or check in with. I’m going to take this time to process missing you, and the new dynamic now presenting itself without either you or mum. I hope I do you both proud. I love and miss the both of you.

23 August 2023 was the date on which I lost my dad. It’s not been long since be passed and I think the initial shock of finding him gone is merging with the reality that he’s not here with me. It is such a strange feeling. There’s a sorrow I recognise from years past from having lost my mum that has now resurfaced. It is an overwhelming sorrow and it makes me feel like I’m drowning. It’s an old friend and yet it feels so alien. It makes me feel so unwell.

There’s a sense of dread inside, about what happens now. I look at the rocking chair I ordered for my dad. It arrived after his passing and he never so much as sat on it, but it makes me think about what happens now. I’m so used to having dad with me. He’s seen me through everything – the joys, the pitfalls, the deep sorrow of losing mum, etc. but he’s not here now. I don’t know how to process this. It’s unreal. A lot of me is asking if this is even happening. It feels like a bad dream. Papa’s been a big part of my life- a constant figure. In July, I drove home in the wee hours of the morning, after dropping my best friend off at the airport. I was in tears. When I got home, Papa was there, arms wide open, ready with a hug. That’s the same hug I got when things went well and I was giddy with joy. Constant.

My big question is not where is God in all this. God’s there. Just the timing of it all is incredible. This year, knowing how my grandad had passed on three days before his 90th, I said fervent prayers that this wouldn’t happen to my dad. I prayed for the 90th birthday party I was planning for him as well as for the 50th I was planning for myself. In fact, it all now feels like it’s been one big send off for Papa. I’m reminded that we all die once before we step into that time of salvation with Christ. (Hebrews 9:27: And just as it is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgment, so Christ, having been offered once to bear the sins of many, will appear a second time, not to deal with sin but to save those who are eagerly waiting for him.). I’m exceedingly grateful for Papa’s faith because of the assurance we have in Christ.

Processing my faith is not a one off act, where I can say it’s all done and dusted. Different things happen in life, what we call the ups and downs. Through those, we are by grace, drawn closer to God. The object of my faith, God, is the saving grace, not so much my faith. Thankfully too, for I am on rocky ground. My dad’s passing has exposed a feeling of vulnerability within. Perhaps in some way, his presence has been the tangible aspect of my faith. I felt seen. I was heard. Even when we argued and got in each other’s way, there were saving graces that both of us experienced. Papa and I had some epic battles. When two headstrong people argue, it’s not the best. For some reason, this was all I focused on in the few days after he died- that we had had some arguments. Perhaps it is guilt. I wondered if I could be more compliant. Almost immediately, a very recent memory, from June this year, comes to mind. He reminded me that he and mum had brought me up to be independent. Perhaps he never expected me to comply blindly. I know that there was a significant moment a few years after mum died. Papa and I had attended a workshop in church. When we came home, he called me aside and told me that he has been moved by things said in the workshop and wanted to apologise for his shortcomings as a parent. I remembered this as I sat sobbing in a counsellor’s room a few days ago. Such words were not my dad’s. He wasn’t good with words. Additionally, I know myself well enough to say I don’t accept such words easily as I don’t naturally have that grace. I’m way too sceptical. However, Papa said those words, and I remember embracing him and being embraced – without any cynicism. It was just love. To my mind, the fact that it happened, could only have been from God. Both father and daughter living out imperfect lives by grace. I’m going to miss this a lot.

My favourite Biblical character, King David (who was ruddy, handsome, and had beautiful eyes – 1 Samuel 16:12) was quite a character. He was quite a wordsmith- consider his poems. He was indeed a lover of women – count his wives, concubines and read his conquests. He was a magnificent warrior – his battle prowess is recorded. He was many great things, and yet he was quite a terrible father. That failure is epic. My father was definitely not good with words. He wasn’t a Romeo, Don Juan like character- though he did dress well and look good. He wasn’t some warrior. He led a quiet life. He enjoyed quiet things like Sudoku, watching the news and live sport. He wasn’t a failure as a husband or father. Quite the contrary. He stood by his wife, honouring his marital covenant before God, even when illness ravaged her and made life difficult in our family. I remember how much he had to shoulder because of mum’s illness. Papa took it all in stride. He loved me well – as a father should love his daughter. Papa stood up for me in many ways (where even my favourite king David failed to stand up for his daughter). My dad understood me and had my back. He recognised battles that I had to fight, paths that I had to choose, freedoms that I wanted. He never once stopped me, but rather supported me.

This is where I guess my faith kicks in, to remind me that Papa was a blessing to me from a great, great God and that the time I had with him was a gift. I’m going to miss my father a lot more than I can say. My heart is broken. My home is shattered. I’m trying to remember Papa’s words every time he prepped me for his passing. He was ready to meet His Maker. He was full of life but ready for his next chapter. I cannot promise there will be no tears from me as I continue in life without my parents.

In fact, I think there will be many ‘firsts’ that I’m not looking forward to. However, I will trust God in this darkness and wait for the day when I too have all my tears wiped away, and when I will no longer mourn, cry, or suffer pain (Revelation 21: 4). For now- whilst I go on without my father, I will miss him dearly.