Anita’s Blog

I love the mornings when Gamora and I get to go to the park. It’s not always easy to get there because the park’s quite far away. There’s the office hour traffics to contend with, even when we leave early. I’ve not decided whether Gamora is crooning along to the hits rolling off my Spotify playlist, or if she’s complaining intensely at the traffic we go through. At any rate, I feel quite a bit of sympathy for myself because I have to focus on traffic with a screechy mutt properly secured in her car seat next to me! Sometimes she hits some really high notes. I’m not remotely suggesting they’re on key, merely that they’re really high. Mine ears have heard the Gamora screech! 

It’s no secret that Gamora’s enjoyment of the park translates into my own enjoyment of it. Her little legs move so quickly and she’s super busy scurrying around trying to follow scents and spy things with her little hunter eyes. I cannot explain with accuracy the swag that this short little sausage roll has at the park. It’s almost like she’s walking to the beat of magic! It’s adorable. She makes known her frustrations with squirrels and birds. At points I think tree climbing classes may benefit her but when I think of the chaos after that, I dismiss the idea. It does amuse me, when I watch her consider what’s before her. It’s almost as if I can see the wheels of her mind turning. I enjoy it! I really do. 

As we walk, I try to take photos. The water lilies especially, have a hold on me. I keep thinking of how glorious the world must’ve been when God first made it. If there’s beauty now, how would it have been before all the destruction. I cannot imagine. As we walk, we also meet friends. Some faces have become familiar. Gamora gets some attention at points or meets a fellow doggie. She absolutely loves this! Gamora can also get tired quite suddenly. It’s almost like she’s run out of gas. At that point, she jumps up and looks at me, ever so expectantly. She wants to be carried. And you know what? I comply. It is a delight. She uses the time she’s in my arms to catch a breath, but she’s also looking out intensely, taking everything in from a different perspective. 

By the time we get back to the car, she’s ready for home. There’s absolutely no screeching on the way back. I count my blessings there! Then, it’s just a contented little pup with her tongue lolling about or fast asleep. Usually, it’s the later. Even that, I find so adorable. The joy at finding ourselves back home is quite funny. Gamora’s tail starts cranking up with full speed. She starts thinking of food, I imagine. And that’s really what happens next. She gets fed. I usually grab a quick coffee and some toast and fire up my laptop. I need to start work. As I do that, I see my little girl flip over contently and fall asleep. It’s absolutely delightful! 

I joke about the bliss when Gamora is sleeping. It’s definitely true. She’s quiet and there’s no busy running around the side of the house. The pitter patter of her feet is silenced for a while. The birds in the garden are safe, as are any other creatures that may be lurking about. The stray dogs outside are free from being told off. The sound of silence is golden! My little security unit is fast asleep. 

Gamora sleeps soundly with her legs up in the air and her body twisted into what feels like uncomfortable positions. Sometimes she’s curls up or pushes herself against the wall. Most of the time she takes a nap on the couch. If I’m sitting somewhere accessible with my laptop, she makes sure she’s sleeping pressed against me. Apart from the fact that I find it ever so endearing, there’s something I’m realising. Gamora is resting. That’s a big deal. I’m listening to myself and to my friends speak about all that is going on in our lives. The one big thing that is missing is rest. No one is resting. Rest is so very important. There’s a time for catching up with others, working, improving ourselves, and doing all sorts. How many of us are factoring times for rest? 

One of the reasons Gamora sleeps so soundly is because she’s secure as she rests. Why? She knows that her mama’s got her back. She knows that her mama will protect her if needs be. She’s so secure that on the days she’s walked long and far, she’s in really deep sleep that she doesn’t even hear the delivery or visitor if they come. This is quite remarkable because Gamora loves deliveries and visitors. The former she loves because she imagines everything that’s arriving is for her. The later is because she loves having friends visit. Usually she’s out making greeting noises. So it is a big deal when she’s snoring away with her feet high in the air! She makes up for the delay when I get up to receive the delivery or visitor by making loud squeals, just to make sure everyone knows she wasn’t shirking on the job. Yeah, right. I find myself laughing, though, when this happens. She is truly adorable. 

Adorable as she is, I can’t help but feel she’s teaching me a valuable lesson. God is much more secure than I ever could be (even if I tried really, really hard). But how well do I rest in Him? At the moment, as I’m facing challenges, I’m trying to take a page out of my little sausage’s book. Rest. Not just rest, but rest in my God. I don’t plan to ever adopt any of Gamora’s sleeping positions. Honestly, I don’t think I could (even if I tried really, really hard!), but I must adopt her posture towards rest. Lately I’ve been pondering on Psalm 23 and the first verse of the Psalm struck me, where it literally means that I shall not want because the LORD is my shepherd. I’m now struck by verse 2 of Psalm 23: ‘He makes me lie down in green pastures.He leads me beside still waters.’ This is a wonderful picture rest. Rest so blissful and nourishing for the soul. King David goes on to say that ‘[God] restores my soul.’ Why is this making sense to me now? After so long, listening to so many talks on this Psalm, it is finally resonating with me more deeply than ever before. It is because David is so secure in his rest that he can go on to say in verse 4 that even though he walks through the valley of the shadow of death, he will fear no evil, for the LORD is with him; the LORD’s rod and staff comfort me. Why? Because ‘the LORD is my shepherd.’ 

I’m so grateful for this lesson from little Gamora. God certainly knows how to use His creatures well! I have been in need of reminders of security and protection as I feel under attack and unprotected, especially now after my father’s passing, as it means neither he or my mum are around. They used to be my security blanket! Gamora’s teaching me that just as she has me to secure her, I have a protector in my God. He protects those who are His. I will use this lesson to pursue rest in my God. 

Little Gamora turns two tomorrow (6.12.2024). Right now as I write this, she’s sulking! I’ve made her a little birthday cake with minced beef and a topping of sweet potatoes and she was drooling as I made it. Much to her disappointment, it went into the fridge not into her bowl. Mind you, she’d just eaten! It’s amusing to watch her fall asleep as she dozes off midway sulking. When I go close to cuddle her, her tongue pops out to give kisses. It’s really cute. 

Tomorrow my aunts, an uncle, and a couple of my cousins are coming by for lunch. I’ve decided to celebrate Gamora’s birthday. Gamora’s going to have a good day, if all goes to plan. I’ve taken the day off. I hope we can go for a morning walk. Then when we get home, I’m going to get food from the Chinese restaurant nearby. It’s yummy! Gamora can eat her cake! 

Gamora’s even getting presents! I cannot believe that family and friends are getting her things. Tennis balls are always in high demand – she loves them. My aunt has made sure her supply continues! My little brat is so spoilt.

All this fuss and she doesn’t really understand. How could she? She’s a pup! She knows to eat what’s put in front of her and to enjoy her walks and toys and to round it all up with long snoozes. Hey, it’s a dog’s life! I’m not even close to thinking of her as human. I wouldn’t do that. There’s a beauty about her as a pup, created by the same God who made me, and who made sure she came to me. What a blessing she has been. 

This little creature cannot take the place that my dad left. That space in my home is empty. She adored him and made her feelings known when he passed. Gamora never met my mum. She’d not be so spoilt if she had! Eighteen years down the line, the space in my home which my mum used to fill remains empty. Gamora cannot take this place. My heart is full of sadness from losing my dad and I still deal with pangs of sorrow when I miss my mum. Gamora doesn’t change any of this. 

What Gamora does, and this is why I feel she’s such a blessing, is she makes me laugh. I burst out laughing at her silly expressions and actions. She is a scream. It’s such a joy watching her hunt. There is worry because sometimes what she hunts can be dangerous. I don’t ever want her entangled with snakes, monkeys, or monitor lizards! Personally I wish she would stop hunting because I so hate the clean up, but it’s funny watching her practice her runs, camouflage herself among the plants (she’s small enough!), or practice trying to scale the wall. I love her energy. Then there is walking her. The park is a place of joy for this little one, and it is a place I have come to love because of her! She’s delighted by the sounds, enraptured by the smells, and the pursuit of the trail ahead gives her endless joy. There are bonuses on days when there are friendly doggies around and she’s in heaven when people interact with her. She loves the hellos, the belly rubs and even manages to pose for some photos. At home, I love watching her play with her toys. Her collection of tennis balls and soft chew toys grow as friends and family bring her things. She enjoys every bit of her playthings. It never ceases to amaze me how she almost always manages to get her squeaky toys squeaking at full blast whenever I’m on a work call. The timing is hilarious! I even love watching her sleep. She sleeps in the oddest positions with her legs sticking up in the air. It’s terribly endearing! 

This is the blessing – she is making me feel a range of emotions even in my home that feels terribly vacant without my dad or mum in it. It’s not that she’s filling a gap or taking their place. She couldn’t do that- she wasn’t designed to. What she was designed to do was to be a loyal and faithful companion and she does that so beautifully. It warms my heart, which feels cold when I consider the loss of my parents. It makes my home a place of laughter- even when it’s just the two of us. There’s a joy in my heart because of this little tubby creature with her lolling tongue ever ready to lick, and with a zest for life. 

I’m celebrating her birthday because I can. I don’t think I can handle Christmas celebrations at the moment. Easter feels painful too. My birthday is another one. I just cannot handle all that. They were special times with my parents- and I cannot even begin to imagine a celebration of the festivities without them. My grief doesn’t know how. So I’m thankful that God has given me little things that I can be thankful for. He has given me walks in the park, flowers that are blooming in my garden, friends and family to chat to, and this little four-legged creature that brings me so much joy despite all the sadness I feel.

It makes me feel that God sees me. It makes me feel that He understands. He gets me. So I thank God for little Gamora! Happy Birthday, my pet. You’re my little ‘hantu’ and I love you so very much! I cannot wait to celebrate you because it’s something I can do for now. Thank You, God, for Gamora. 

Psalm 24:1

The earth is the LORD’s and the fullness thereof, the world and those who dwell therein… 

I’m recovering from COVID. Am negative now, but am feeling rather battered. They tell me it will take two to three weeks before I start feeling better. I can’t wait to be rid of this not-so-great feeling. It has been a little tough on little Gamora. She’s not had her usual walks or morning ball games. I’m hoping to get back into those too. I miss doing them with her. I’ve also not managed the garden very much since the fever happened. It’s another thing I need to get back to.

I’ve been thinking about the morning I was tested. The moment the test kit showed I was positive for COVID, I started to tell the clinic attendant that I needed to protect my father. I caught myself mid-sentence, and stopped. The attendant was lovely. The clinic’s in front of my housing area and my dad wasn’t a stranger to the staff there. So he knew that his passing was fairly recent. He said something very sweet in response and to the effect that loss is hard. It was such a knee-jerk reaction on my part. These still happen when I think about my dad. 

It took about four and a half to five days before the fever broke. It was nasty. I’m certainly hoping this will be the first and the last time ever! The day it broke was a Saturday and I went outside into the garden for a bit in the morning. It was good to be outside and to feel the grass beneath my feet. I was dead excited to see that my Lombok creeper had bloomed and that a second bud was forming. The Lombok creeper, as I call it, is the clockvine creeper. 

Days before he died, my father suggested I book a holiday. My dad’s usually not insistent about things but he was quite keen for me to book a trip for myself. That is how on 20 August 2023, just three days before he died, I booked a trip to Lombok. One of my girl friends agreed to go with me. The inspiration for Lombok was from a dear friend from work who was staying with us for some days during her visit to Malaysia, who had shown me some stunning photos of Lombok. I was so pleased having made the booking. Little did I know that it would be a trip I later made to gain some respite from losing my father. My friend and I stayed at a lovely hotel in Lombok, and everything was top-notch- from the service to the serenity of the location. We couldn’t help but be enamoured by the gorgeous flowers that were blossoming off a massive creeper over the area where we had breakfast. Before we knew it, we were on our way back to Malaysia with cuttings. Don’t ask me how we carried them through. No real attempt was made to hide anything!

I’m not much of a gardener, but I dutifully planted the Lombok creeper. There were several things about the trip that made the creeper special to me. The first was how insistent my dad had been about me booking the break, and the second was how I later found money in his drawer for the exact amount of my hotel stay. He had asked me several times how much my hotel stay was- and I had found it odd. It wasn’t something he usually did. Still – this had happened, and it made me feel connected to Lombok, to the Lombok creeper that now grows in my garden. 

The flowers from my Lombok creeper are pretty. There’s a hint of lavender on white which glistens in the sun. I know Gamora’s super curious about the plant. It’s been through a repotting and just before I was tested for COVID, I’d been trying to fend off an attack to its leaves. I think I still need to do something there. Little Gamora hasn’t tried to do anything to harm this plant. This little creature understands, I think, that the plant is special to me. When we play ball, she uses it as the point where she waits for me to throw the ball. It’s somewhere in the middle of my not so big garden, so whether I’m right at the back of the garden throwing the ball to the front or vice versa, she has set herself an advantage point. The Lombok creeper is useful to Gamora too. 

I’ve been reflecting on how the Lombok creeper and other plants have been thriving in the garden. I’ve been so thankful for how Gamora’s intuitive self has been a major blessing on the days that I burned with a fever. It’s not made missing my dad any lesser, but they’ve been things that I can thank God for. They’re simply lovely. I have also been grateful to have some super thoughtful people around with messages of concern offering help or wanting to send me things, or my cousin who came to take Gamora for a walk and to play with her. There’s been generosity at work – I had to take some days off ill. There was also a surprise visit- thankfully on a day when I later tested negative. It’s been surreal to say the least. Another host of things to thank God for. I don’t want to lose sight of that- thanking God, I mean. 

Today, I went into the garden again in the morning. I’m not even okay to water the plants just yet. But goodness, the flowers are in good stead. I looked at my Lombok creeper and was delighted to see that there are about six or seven buds of different sizes forming. I know to expect more flowers. This, even in the midst of its leaves still needing to ward off an attack. The parallel to my life feels clear – there are things that don’t always go right and there can be challenges, but along the way, by sheer grace from God, just like my Lombok creeper, there are things that flower up in my life. I am grateful to God for this. 

Recently, Gamora had a visitor. A lovely little French bulldog who belongs to a friend popped by for a visit. The two of them hit it off. I was so absorbed by their interactions that I wasn’t very attentive to my friend. It’s lovely watching your dogs play, in my opinion. It’s a frolicking that feels light and joyful and it’s extremely engaging. This is all of course when they get along. 

Even when they hit it off, I guess as pet owners we keep an eye on our fur babies. I know the mischievous nature that my four legged ‘goofball’ (as one of my cousins affectionately calls Gamora) can get up to. I know too that she’s extremely used to being the centre of attention and has moments when she can get overwhelmed by things and wants her mama. Sure enough, all these things played out. Gamora’s love of treats means she immediately sits and waits when she knows a treat is on hand. Her little friend in her excitement didn’t sit quick enough for Gamora, and I made the mistake of not rewarding Gamora immediately when she sat. The result was an annoyed, emotional yelp by Gamora as she tried to prance and restore order (according to Gamora). It didn’t bode well with me because I wanted her trust. I wanted her to wait for me no matter what. We’ll need to work this out again. After all, everyday with me and Gamora is full of learning and growing closer and more In sync. It is trust building. 

As I think back on that little incident, I know that there is a lesson in it for me. Perhaps it relates to how I am towards God when I feel a blessing is delayed or when I can’t feel His guidance in a situation. I know I feel injured when I have been especially good (well, Gamora has her standards, I have mine). I dare not even count the number of times I’ve displayed a lack of trust in my Creator, the one who made me, provides for me, and who so graciously redeemed me. In that moment, Gamora forgot all the times I came through for her. She has good reason to also recognise my failures. Unlike God, who I don’t always trust to the fullest, I am flawed and I fail. The realisation is surreal. Unlike Gamora, I have no reason for distrust. 

This little hiccup was over in minutes and the frolicking resumed. They darted and ran and did all sorts until they were completely winded. They’d then grab a drink of water and flop themselves on the floor to recover their breaths. Watching their tongues hanging out the sides of their mouths and their little bellies rising and falling ever so rapidly with deep breaths was just captivating. I love such moments. It is a picture of bliss and contentment in a moment. There is no anxiety, no thought of what’s next, nor is there room for any unnecessary thought. All attention in that moment is on recovering enough energy to  give them a second wind. Lovely. 

There were a few moments where my little creature was not such a great host. This was when I carried the little Frenchie. She was so cute and she didn’t wriggle, unlike my Gamora who thrashes about to find maximum comfort in my arms. I guess for our little visitor, my arms are a strangers’ arms and she isn’t about to make herself comfortable as she would in her mum’s arms. The times I carried our visitor, Gamora would come flying over, jumping up with her ‘mama, carry me,’ signal. She wasn’t having it. The possessive nature of her part dachshund pedigree showed thoroughly. In many ways, I relate to how she behaves. I am an only child. My parents were great with others, but I always wanted them for myself. This bit makes me sad, though. I no longer have them. The bit of security that comes from being in the arms of your parent, given that the relationship allows for it, is simply unbeatable. This is one of the things that I am grieving now that my dad too is gone. It makes me sad. 

In a conversation with a senior leader from my organisation, she asked me how I would redefine myself now that papa was gone. I was always a daughter. I was always Leela’s and Stephen’s only daughter. I’ve not been able to get closer to identifying what redefining myself would be like. I do know that when my mum passed away, I had felt rather lost and was worried about who I had become. My pastor shared with me a poem by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, which ends with ‘Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine. Whoever I am, thou knowest O God, I am thine.’ These words come to mind as a soothing balm. For Gamora, the moment she’s in my arms, she’s extra sure she’s mine. For me, I must remember that on the cross, Jesus gave His life so that I could be His and He could be mine. 

I’m going to need more time to unpack how my dad’s passing redefines me. Now it’s not just my mum who’s gone. It’s the both of them. There are moments when I am unable to speak or write my feelings. It all feels like a haze. Yet, I am determined to use the moments I have been blessed with, like how my Gamy girl and her new Frenchie friend did. I’m going to try being in the moment. Taking a day at a time helps. It may be hard to breathe, but I will focus on my next breath and in the bliss of that moment try remembering that I am in Christ.

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.