Anita’s Blog

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.

Before I start my eulogy, I want to thank everyone for all your kindness to me at this sad time. I am sad. You’ve all come alongside me to grieve and have helped me with so many things. Thank you for this.

Some time in the wee hours of 23^rd August, my father, Stephen Rajamoney, breathed his last breath. He was 90 years, 2 months, and 5 days old when he left his earthly home for his heavenly destination. My father was ready to meet his maker – he trusted in the salvation provided to him by Jesus Christ.

So many family and friends have been communicating with me since Papa died. I’m sure everyone’s saying a lot of nice things to me. To be honest, a lot of it sounds like a loud buzz. My mind is a little in shock, and I’m exhausted. Still, there are some wonderful things that I’m hearing about Papa. Some things are being said over and over that I’m able to pick them out.

Many people keep telling me how patient he was. My uncle talked about how Papa probably only got impatient when Nadal or Djokovic served because of how long they took to serve – unlike Federer. I must add that Papa would also get rather impatient with Liverpool (the football team we support), when they took too long over corners, or if time wasting was a tactic employed. Papa, I’m reminded, is exceedingly hospitable. Family and friends have been sharing with me that they’ve enjoyed conversations with him and have been made to feel very welcome in our home. They could have open conversations – no need to temper anything. From an insider perspective, I have to say that Papa loved the company we had. When I was little, my Mum or even my granny would give him long shopping lists of things they needed for the cook-up that was about to happen. He would go and painstakingly get the stuff needed. He wasn’t someone who did things in the kitchen, but this was how he contributed. He got all the stuff. As he got older, this task was slowly relinquished over to me. At various times, he would say to me that he wasn’t able to help but he would ask me countless questions about what I was planning to serve, if I had it all under control, etc. So yes – if you saw him smiling widely at you when you set foot into our home, you were right to perceive that he was welcoming you. He was indeed very happy to see you.

I keep hearing people say that Papa supported them in many ways. Some say they learnt through his sharing of experiences. This was so heartwarming to hear. He did have much experience. He lived through a World War and the Japanese Occupation of Malaya. His father, my grandfather, took the family out of Malaya to India for safety during the Japanese Occupation. Papa saw death very young. He lost a sister who was only 17 during the Japanese Occupation. I think it gave him a very different perspective on death. He crossed over into Malaysia on the final day before Malaysia and Singapore separated. PHEW! He worked as a teacher and met a whole load of different people. If you look back to the time when he was even younger, I have it on good authority that he was incredibly naughty. Apparently, he could run extremely fast, and he would knock people off their feet. His speed was a great asset because it was hard to catch him after he’d done a mischievous deed! I should also add that if anyone of you here says I have mischief in me (and am looking at some of you here in the crowd), I want you to know now where it comes from. Sins of the father! There were diving stints in exceedingly deep wells – not something I’d recommend for the fainthearted. Papa’s life was full of ups and downs. From what people have been sharing with me, it sounds like he shared these with you.

Let me share with you my insights on Papa. The thing I most admired about my dad was his integrity. Papa and Mummy met at a wedding. He was tall and handsome. She was beautiful and elegant. They made a lovely pair. They got married in this very church and not too long after they were married, mum suffered a rheumatoid arthritis flare, which rendered her bedridden. Mummy told me many times that Papa would’ve been forgiven if he had left their marriage at that time. He, however, stayed on. The impression that has made on me is unshakeable. There was integrity in the vows he took. This is something I have always admired Papa for – and it is something Mum always wanted me to remember.

Papa and I spoke completely different love languages. We have completely different personalities. He is engaging and chatty for sure – but it takes time for him to get there. I’m a raging extrovert. When Mum died, Papa sat beside me and said ‘I don’t know what to do now she’s gone. You both were always talking and laughing – I don’t know if I can keep up.’ It was a fair assessment. He was quiet a lot. It made it difficult, I guess, and as broken individuals, perhaps our conflict resolution wasn’t always godly. However, there has been so much to be grateful for. Papa and I had moments of deep sharing, and this has been helpful for me to see how we as sinners justified by grace, try, fail, or succeed, in different aspects of our relationship. Saying this, as different as we were, he also really got me. I think I’m going to really miss this. He got me. When Mum died, I broke. I quit the law and retreated into a cave. I interacted with very few people and was in general, a mess. I cannot tell you the number of people who told me off for quitting the law. You know what? Papa knew I made a fine lawyer. Not the best, perhaps – but pretty darn decent. Papa knew how much I’d loved going to court – after all, I’d regaled him and mum with tales of court. But he also knew that I was struggling. He knew I needed a change. He stood beside me as I made that change. When you spiral, you don’t necessarily chart things out. I guess for people looking on, the big question of ‘what are you doing?’ was unanswered. For Papa, he stood beside me. Never wavering. No busy yackety yak about what everyone else was doing to bounce back. He got me. He got me even when I didn’t get myself. He knew when I was ready for relationships. He knew when I wasn’t. He knew I needed to speak up for somethings. He knew I needed to fight for what I believed in. He had no issue with it. He got me. He never forced the idea of marriage on me – and he had on more than one occasion said ‘leave my daughter alone’. He got me.

In the last 3 years or so, Papa felt the need to prep me for his passing. He talked to me about it so much – he wanted me to make decisions for me – without considering him because he said he was only going to be here temporarily. This year, we spoke a lot about him turning 90. We celebrated his 90^th birthday – he was surrounded by family and he even said a few words, which was shocking because he’s not into speaking up front – anyone who knows him, would agree! Every time I talked about his cake, the food, or any other plan I was making for his party, he would somehow bring the conversation to his passing. He wanted me to be ready. I didn’t enjoy those conversations, but I admired his truthfulness about things. Behind it all, was a faith, that his Savior had him in His Hands. Papa knew Jesus. Papa was sure of where he was going. Even when we know this, it’s hard to have those difficult conversations. Papa had them with me. I am grateful.

I love my dad very much. Apart from God, he loved me the most. No doubts there. I look forward now to the day, when we meet in Christ, for this time, when we meet, we will both be speaking the same love language. I will miss you, Papa. I’m sorry for my failings and I thank God for the times I was a good daughter. I love you and am so grateful to God for you. I will miss you more than I can say.

One week ago, Rio, an old four-legged friend died. He came into my life when his mum and I were connected by a mutual friend (Rio’s Godmum). All of us became friends – pooches and humans. It’s a season that felt really blessed. I think they’ll always be some of my fondest days.

While we organised weekend (and sometimes weekday) get togethers, ate all sorts over dinner, played the Lord of the Rings monopoly feverishly, and bonded, our four-legged pals were unforgotten. Our pooches played together – Rio and Patches.

Rio and Patches were both black and white. Rio‘s coat had more black in it and was rather velvety. He always seemed regal. He was definitely an alpha and didn’t shirk back from establishing his leadership. Patches was playful and slightly younger and a fair bit more boisterous. It was funny to watch their interactions because whilst they enjoyed playtime, Rio also liked settling down, while Patches kept going like the energiser bunny! We’d watch quite amused as they worked this out. I remember how on one day, when Patches wouldn’t sit still, Rio stretched out his paw, put it on Patches’ back as if to make him sit! How we burst into laughter. Rio was teaching Patches!

There was another time when both Rio and Patches were at my house and a third pooch was introduced to them. The third wheel was unhappy, and at one point snapped at Patches, who was off in a flash. All of us watched in shock,- almost unable to react, but there was one who reacted immediately. Rio. Rio came swiftly to Patches’ defense. It was just how he was. He knew what to do for his mate. Brave boy!

Some of us got to see quite a bit of the softer side of Rio. He had these guttural sounds which he made when he was having a whinge. He’d come looking for pats and rubs and he knew not to move until he had his fill. If you stopped before he was ready for you to stop, he’d look you directly in the eyes, almost to say “why would you do that, now?” It was very effective! He made you feel so guilty that you couldn’t stop! I know. I succumbed. Not just me. Many others too. It was simply adorable how he let his friends love him. He knew it was therapeutic for us too. If he did this for his friends, what would he have done for his family?

There are so many such stories that I could tell. I’m sure we’ll be talking about more things over time. Rio was part of our lives- he made a place for himself in our hearts.

As my friends cope with the loss of Rio, I know there are going to be many hard days ahead. There are going to be days when they long to hear the patter of his feet. There are going to be days when they’re in tears because they miss him. There are going to be days when it all doesn’t make sense. Yet, I hope and I pray that they will also remember that because of the blessing of Rio in their lives, they will have stories to tell. Stories that may seem painful right now, but which will surely warm their hearts on some days when they need it most. God is gracious to us this way.

Right now, as they grapple with this massive loss and look back on their journey with Rio, I hope and pray that they come to see how much they were blessed and how generous they were to let some of us share in their blessing.

Rio, you were a very good boy and I’ll never forget you.

Gosh, how I love Gamora! She’s a vibrant little thing- full of mischief. It’s almost as if her little body is just tightly packed with mischievous play and deeds. It’s hilarious! I’m comparing her to both my beloved Patches and my darling Loki, and I have to say that on the mischief score metre, she’s well ahead of the pack! It’s quite shocking because Patches stole a turkey one Christmas and Loki’s penchant for stealing clothes, biting them up and tossing them back into the laundry basket seem like quite formidable ratings on the mischief scale. However, little Gamora’s giving them a run for their money. Considering as I write this, she’s not yet five months old and has only been with me for one and a half months, it is rather significant!

Gamora! She’s rather living up to the tough, warrior I’ve named her after (from Guardians of the Galaxy). I thought of the name because when I first laid eyes on little Gamora, the wrinkled brows and her eyes that look like she’s wearing eye-liner, reminded me of the character. Anyway- this little cutie, who I think is well named, has turned out to be a mini terror! She’s only tiny and almost everything is bigger or higher than she is. That doesn’t daunt her. Not one bit! She’s a problem-solver and works things out. If I try to block off an area, her first reaction is one of irritation. She has quite a loud bark for such a small creature, and she uses it to let whatever it is that’s in her way, know that she’s not pleased. Then, it appears that she’s succumbing to the situation as she sits down facing her ‘challenge’. You can almost see the wheels in her head going at full speed! The next thing you know, she’s figured a way past the barrier and is doing precisely what you don’t want her to do! And she’s fast! She shoots off before you can catch her. It feels like she’s having a laugh when she takes off with a slipper or a shoe, or whatever else that she’s not supposed to. It’s such a funny picture watching this little gremlin zip around at top speed carrying something that looks almost half her size! It cracks me up. I find myself laughing in wild amusement.

She’s also quite brave. Don’t get me wrong- she does get scared. She’s only little and so many things are new to her. But again, that watchful face observes and as soon as she works out it’s safe, she’s off on a fearless exploration. Her curiosity is astounding. She follows – the faithful adventure seeker! A couple of weeks ago, I found her on the dining chair contemplating getting on to the dining table. Considering she’s not anywhere close to my knees, height wise, and rather closer to my ankles, it’s quite a feat. Sometimes, I watch her in the garden. I think she amuses the pigeons on high. She tries to go after them, but they fly to much higher ground, and she sits and watches, looking for a way up. Sometimes she runs from a distance to try and gain leverage up the garden wall. It’s hilarious!

Gamora’s interests are showing early. She’s clearly a Marvel fan. She’s remaining true there. She sat and watched as I watched Captain America: Civil War with full fascination for the most part. Her tiny head looking right up at the TV screen. The following night, I was in the mood for The Dark Knight. Batman did not hold her interest. She was out like a light! It’s hard not to be amused.

Gamora is such a wonderful blessing to our home. She’s ready to love. She’s got quite a busy greeting. Visit and you’ll see what I mean. She has some frequent visitors and she really enjoys them. It’s very obvious she does. I have a lot of pleasure watching her interact – as I know the mischief that’s about to hit them! Of course when I go back home after being out for a bit, I have the Gamora missile launched right at me. It helps to sit and just let her go! She’s got a flurry of kisses to give and she wants cuddles and she wants it all immediately. And how she loves her belly rubs. Her latest is letting me carry her like a baby on her back, so that I can tickle her belly while she just looks at me with melting eyes. So much love.

Gamora’s a blessing to me. Not a greater blessing than Jesus coming for me. Nothing trumps that. However, she is a blessing from Him to me. I’m convinced of it. At the point when I was feeling my lowest, after losing Loki and then having to witness some family go through loss, it was such wonderful therapy to have this little gremlin come into our home. Initially, the breeder I got her from said that she’d be sad after being taken away from the happy family that she was a part of. That never happened. She felt at home right away and settled in immediately! She’s made herself a part of our family so very quickly. It keeps amazing me how gracious God is to me- sending me the right thing at the right time. I’m at a loss to explain the amazing chemistry there is in our space with the addition of Gamora. It simply is lovely. In a season of loss and decline, as I watch loved ones age, suffer from illness, and as I face fears of eventual loses of loved ones, I am blown away at how God has sent me a little gremlin to bring me cheer and to remind me of His goodness. The perfection of this blessing isn’t in that there will never be sorrows or troubles for little Gamora and me. No. It is just that even in challenging times, a need is met. Thank You, Jesus, for Gamora. Grant me my mobility for a long time, so that I may chase after her when she runs off with my slippers!

It is impossible to be unaffected by loss. When you’ve endured loss, another’s grief resonates more closely than you’d like. It’s almost as if there are tears you find, that remind you how you’re still not done crying for your own losses. Perhaps it is what enables us to feel some sort of empathy. Otherwise, we may all be sitting in some pristine tower looking down at how weak those who’re grieving are.

Grief hits hard. It hits very hard.

More often than not, we’re told to be strong. The appearance of stoicism, the ability to hold back tears and block emotion from appearing are much lauded. We comment on how strong someone must be just coz they’re able to get back to things almost immediately. We don’t seem to hold in esteem anyone who’s struggling or who needs more time. It’s almost as if there’s a judgment box. How long more will they need to grieve? Why’s it taking so long to recover? Why can’t they just get over it?

Grief hits hard. It hits very hard.

I think that we’ve been brought up to downplay our grief. Letting tears show is a definite sign of weakness. We’ve been thought to blink back. We’ve been taught to suppress any feelings of sadness and to do all we can to forget. Sometimes, after you’ve lost someone dear, you find that not many people who will give you the space to speak of them. We’re meant to speak only of happy things. Drown your sorrows. Don’t let your pain be seen. Saying this, I must add that bereavement isn’t the only source of grief. We cry because of breakups, divorce, job or financial losses, health issues, etc. The list is a long one.

Grief hits hard. It hits very hard.

This unnatural approach to grief perhaps shows us how out of touch we are with ourselves and our true natures. I write as a Christian and it is through this lens that I process my grief. It’s been a long journey of learning as I grieve over various things. It has been such a remarkable journey and as I read God’s Word and process things, I have felt like I’ve been made to face my grief head on. There has been no shirking back, no ignoring the facts as they present themselves.

Grief hits hard. It hits very hard.

So what does my Christian world view say? It tells me that because of Jesus’ death and resurrection, all believers will have eternal life (John 3:16). This is the greatest and most glorious gift ever to believers. Believers cling to this truth. We believe that the Son of God emptied Himself of glory and identified Himself as man to die for us (Philippians 2: 5-8). This truth also informs me that when we bid our farewells to fellow believers, we are not to grieve like those without hope (1 Thessalonians 4: 13-18). This is a promise on how all those who have gone on before us will rise. The life that we will have is beyond any of the troubles we face right now, which are temporal in nature (Romans 8:18, 2 Corinthians 4:17, 1 Peter 5: 10). The promise isn’t that there will be bliss the moment you accept Christ. That’s not the case. In fact, it is quite the opposite. The good news is that all the pain we feel in this present life is temporal and there will come a day when we no longer have to battle with flesh and decay the way we do now. It will be life the way it was intended – without sin infiltrating it and causing all sorts of problems. There will be no more death one day. But until then, we have no escape. Our loved ones die. We die too. All these promises remind us of one big thing: the world as it is isn’t how God intended it to be. There’s a lot that will really upset us.

Grief hits hard. It hits very hard.

Take Jesus when he goes to Lazarus after the later has died. We’re simply told that He wept (John 11:35). He wept. He who was about to raise Lazarus, wept. He wept because death is indeed a hard burden to bear and it shows exactly how things aren’t meant to be. He gives us a model of how we can weep. He gives us an example of how much death moves us (John 11:38). The Lord of life showed us how hard grief is. He showed us that it is okay for us to be moved by it even though it is temporary. So if loss hits hard, it is okay. If it moves you or causes you to stagger, it is okay. It is okay if it leaves some kind of mark. However, be comforted because Jesus didn’t just leave it there. If He had, there would be no reason to say we can grieve but not as those without hope. The story doesn’t end with Lazarus’s temporal resurrection. Lazarus did eventually die. The story progresses to Jesus heading towards Jerusalem to take our place on the cross, accepting the humiliation and torture that was ours and embracing the death which was meant to be ours. Again that’s not the end. It goes on to show Jesus rising again from the dead and ultimately defeating death for us all. So yes, whilst as believers we have this pain of death, we also have the certain hope of a resurrection. Perhaps now, as we go through the pain of grief, there can be moments of comfort where we can see that whilst grief may hit us hard, because of Jesus, that hit is temporary. Let us not, however, dismiss the suffering of a fellow believer as they mourn a loss. Rather, let us remember how our Lord Himself wept. It wasn’t a display of weakness. It was sorrow for the way things aren’t how they are meant to be. Perhaps it is in the depths of our sorrow, that we too display the heart of Christ. Perhaps it is in that moment of sadness and loss, that He grants us insight into how it really isn’t okay. Perhaps we can be bold and embrace these tears- which are temporary. For we also know that whilst we sorrow, there will come a day when we rejoice. That rejoicing will never cease. Unlike our sorrow, it isn’t temporal. It will be forever. Yes, grief does hit hard. Yes, it hits very hard. But no – it doesn’t last forever.

Gamora is slightly over three months old. Her mama is a dachshund while her papa a pug. She was born on 6 December 2022. She came to live with us on 13 March and as I write this, has only been with us for a couple of days. She seems to have settled in well. One of the clearest bits of evidence for this is how she’s able to sleep with her legs all stuck up in the air. She does know how to strike a pose, this one!

I first met Gamora when I went to visit her brother. Someone reached out to me about taking on a pup. Up to now, I’d never had a female dog and I wasn’t quite sure if I knew enough to care for one. Mostly, I wasn’t sure if I could after lose Loki. It’s been very painful. When I finally agreed to meet the pups, I only considered Gamora’s brother. Gamora coming home with me almost didn’t happen!

I went through a whole roller coaster of emotions when thinking about whether to get another pup. I feel the loss of Loki every day. There’s so much of Loki in my life. A friend gave me a painting of Loki, and I’ve put it on my table. It really looks like he’s peering at me in the same way he would’ve done when trying to get may attention. It’s such a gorgeous painting! I still feel tears welling up when I go to the park where Loki and I used to walk together. It’s where I still walk but it’s been tough. Not having him next to me at the end of leash, trotting along in merry fashion, is hard. He loved that park. I loved going there with him. There’s still a lot of sadness when I think of Loki. Often, I wonder if there could’ve been some other way.

I especially appreciated the counsel of four friends. One is such a long-time friend from my time in university. She’s got a grand-fur kid! Such privilege, it feels. A couple of others have now moved away. One has a pooch who helped train my beloved Patches and who’s a grand old man now, while the other has a young pup who does crazy zoomies in the snow. Yet another was a former colleague who’s taken on a couple of pups after suffering the loss of a couple of fur kids. He’s being reminded of how these little creatures rule our worlds. Their words, for which I am so incredibly grateful, were measured and compassionate. They alleviated any pressure and guilt that I felt. It was fine either way – whether I took another pup or not. Armed with this, I went, and it was then when I first met Gamora, though it was her brother that I paid attention to.

The first time I met Gamora, she was the most eager to be fed. She was also extremely friendly and jolly. I hadn’t considered her at the time, only her brother. It was obvious that the pups were healthy and jolly. The pups interacted well with their parents and each other. It was such a sweet picture. I found myself thinking of Loki – comparing his horrific start to life to this happy family. It was hard not to. I said I’d think about it, and then in a couple of days decided not to go ahead. I was so worried that I’d not be able to properly love a new fur kid. All of this was followed by a series of events that made me feel like I was on a roller coaster ride. My dad had a nasty fall but was miraculously unhurt. Then, an uncle passed away. It feels so sad to see my aunt and cousins go through this loss. In connection with that, we also made a visit to my mum’s grave. I’d not been there since 2010/11. I find it hard to go. It was hard being there. Waves of emotions that I’ve not felt in a while made themselves present. It was hard. I state only the gist of it all. It really felt like I was going through the wringer, and I felt like I needed the therapy these fur kids bring.

It was strange how I then decided to get another pup. I was walking in the park and met with a former neighbour. She started telling me about their new golden retriever, young still and I felt her joy of looking after a young one. We talked for a good hour as we walked. I then started work, kept thinking of the conversation and as I prepared to drive out for a meeting, I checked to see if Gamora’s brother was still available. Some people had paid a booking fee for Gamora’s brother, but I was told they’d be okay to take Gamora if I had my heart set on the brother. Something told me to go with an open mind. When I went, Gamora refused to let her brother come anywhere near me! She’d be the first to get some treats from me. She was the first to come running up to me and she readily stayed in my arms for ages. She got me!

It was quite late when I got Gamora, and I was worried that the first night would be disastrous. I was also worried that she’d be depressed from being removed from her happy family. I was worried for nothing. The first night, she cuddled up to me, refusing to let go of my arm. She slept soundly right through to the morning. She settles fine when I’m nearby and she’s so very playful. I feel twinges of pain when I compare this to Loki’s early days. How he suffered with his injury. He couldn’t run about or be curious unlike little Gamora. There is sadness there. Yet it’s impossible not to laugh out loud watching Gamora’s antics. She chased a bird today and was puzzled how it managed to get so high. She tried to eat a flower, which I had to take out of her mouth. She playfully charges and dashes about and is quite the explorer. It’s funny how she tugs at everything, rolls about, and turns up for belly rubs. She’s showing a liking for carrots and apples, which is great as she is teething. I must say she infinitely prefers my fingers to any other treat! She’s got great bursts of energy and then crashes like there’s not a care in the world. Just so lovely to see.

In all of this, I see God’s Hand. Loki was a bittersweet blessing. The pain of losing him will take awhile to heal. Yet, Loki came to me at a point when I was struggling with my illness. With his handicap, we kept pace with each other! I was never too slow for him nor was he too quick for me. His ability to cope with his limitations and his tenacity taught me many things. It was easy to see God’s grace in Loki’s life and he helped me see God’s grace in mine when I was prone to forget. Similarly, it was not difficult to see Loki smile and enjoy life despite his severe PTSD. It helped me to appreciate things so much more. Now, with Gamora, it feels like a whole new chapter. This little one followed me so bravely into the world, leaving behind all she knew. She trusted and is continuing to build trust with me. I haven’t been able to shake this perception of Gamora. It points me in the direction I need to be with God. Trusting. Following. And I must continue to work on building trust. It’s a two-way thing. I must be willing. There needs to be an openness. This little pup is showing me that. God’s given me so much more than I can ever give little Gamora. So, as I watch this little pup grow and as I learn to trust her and have her trust me, I will keep remembering our God who’s already given me so much that I can trust in Him. I will follow.

It is lovely having Gamora in our home. She’s endearing herself to us through her many tools! As difficult as it was to get to this moment of having Gamora here as mine, I am very thankful to God for the conversations, reflections, and prayers that have gone on to lead me to her. What a journey it has been, and it is only the beginning.

Dearest Loki,

Gosh, how I miss you, my sweet, sweet Loki. How much I think of you. How much I cry. It all feels surreal. Almost like our home’s not adjusted to the silence.

Now, there’s another little fella who needs a home. He’s not quite as young as you were when you came to me. He’ll be three months old on 6 March. Right off the bat, when I watch videos of him, my heart grieves for you- he was safe when he came into the world. He’s still with his parents but now all his siblings have found homes. He’s a baby, but he doesn’t have the same fragility you had- being attacked, clinging on for dear life, struggling with pain and really just making it from day to day. That start was your ultimate undoing. The world was too cruel for you, my sweet Loki.

And what you gave me! You gave me parental duties – not something I thought I’d ever have. Feeds around the clock, calming you down when nightmares took hold, doing everything possible to make you okay. Then losing you. I don’t know what to do. Should I give this little fella home? Should I memorialise our home for you? Oh sweet love, I’m so unsure. Some amazing voices have been speaking into this – recognising that either way, it is okay. I never thought I would be here now, needing to make such a decision. I had such dreams of us growing old together – you were going to be there.

I don’t know what I’ll do. But I know this: I think it’s always going to hurt when I think of you. Your leaving was untimely and cruel. I’m always going to be amazed when I think of you. Your tenacity to hold on and come through such a horrific start will never cease to amaze me. I’m always going to feel guilty when I think of you. I wish I could’ve saved you. I’m always going to be so grateful to God for you. What a beautiful blessing you were to me. You brought so much joy and laughter into our home. You made me feel many things that I never thought I would feel. I’m always going to be in a whirlwind when I think of you. The landslide of emotions almost like your face licks don’t cease. I’m always going to hold a space for you in my heart. Always.

I don’t know what I will do about this little one. But I wanted to tell you what was in my heart.

I love you loads.

Always yours,
Anita
26 February 2023
5:23pm