“Precious ones, a life so loved
That left footprints in my heart, now a treasure to my soul.
May the memories flow with the waters.
I’ll let you go! I’ll let you go!! I’ll let you go!!!”
If tears could bring you back, then by now I’d have cried a river-full.
If longing to have you right before me counted for much, then I’d never have to miss you.
If only the vow we swore that till death do us part didn’t turn out to just as it meant, then we’d never have had to be apart.
If memories were more than just that, and if they could be relived in the true sense of the word, then most of problems would stand solved.
If my many questions all had answers, then I’d certainly have stopped asking by now, and, perhaps, gotten to understand what the Mighty Unseen One is up to.
If smiles, and belly-deep laughters, the kind you usually choke on, and even shed tears from, lasted forever, then I’d never have to miss them with each breaking day.
If persissting in guilt and anger and denial had anything substantial to offer, then I think I certainly would still be in those places without any semblance of sanity enough to write this.
If God wasn’t just, I’d have spent each day contemplating the unfairness of life, and undermining the graciousness of the Father and the strength of his hand upon me.
If the size and loftiness of the dreams you had, and the heights to which you aspired, were limiting factors, then you’d be here striving each day to live each of those dreams.
If the Sovereign One ever asked us before doing as he sees fit, then you,d never had to leave as soon as you did.
If every one of us had express permissions to persist on this side of the divide for the length of time it took to live every single dream we have, then a maqn of your sort would live forever.
If heaven were only a stroll away, then we’d see you every waking day.
If a father’s love for his children truly was without such an end, then our daughters would have you right here.
If time ever did stand still, then it wouldn’t be a long, painful four years already.
Nadia is now six
Erdoo is now four
The burden is lighter
Though the sting is still there, and
The doubts still arise
There are some memories I don’t want to revisit because I hate to face the reality of the fact that comes with doing so.
I’m stronger now. Much stronger
I can say your name and not be mad at you and myself and at God and at life.
It’s said that the day a gone loved one is forgotten is the day his name ceases to be mentioned. How can it be? I say your name when:
I write my full names
When our children have to say their full names.
When I want to scold them or call them out and I yell, “Onovmba Orseer, va nen hen!”
When your dad and I talk about you.
When your mom and I reminisce about your picky eating habits and how much like you Erdoo is in that regard.
When your parents count the number of children they has (you’re never far away from their thoughts. Never)
You might be gone – sometimes it’s still unbelievable – but you’re never forgotten, for to live in the hearts of those you love is to never die.
You know, it’s been four full years but the denial is still so strong sometimes and not even standing at your graveside convinces me. There’s this one person I always have to call again and again to ask if it was really you. And as the good man, and your dear friend, that he is, he’s always patient to reassure me that indeed it was your body that laid buried in that grave.
I thank the Lord for sorting out your big little girl because I tapped out in the fight to give her fitting answers to her questions. Now, she’s the one who tells me things about your passing and how she thinks her Unseen Daddy knew why He had to let you die. I must admit that sometimes she leaves me more confused than comforted. She’s gone ahead of me to tell her sister so much about you and your absence during their ‘gossip’ time, that always leaves me in wonder.
Ordedoo, this is not how we planned it or where we planned to be, but this is how it is and this is where we are. I’m thankful to the Father for being gracious and faithful to us all this time. It could have only been Him. The first taste of warmwood and gall that filled my mouth is slowly fading away and is being replaced by the sweetness of the peace that only Jesus could have given and because I made peace with God and His decision to take you within less than three years of our union. I thank Him for letting me stay even when I wanted to with you, and I’m grateful that my heart didn’t go with you.
Orseer, we miss you, no doubt but I’m assured that things will get better with each passing day.
Rest on, Ordedoo and sing to your heart’s content. We’ll surely see again at the Master’s feet, where we wouldn’t have to miss you ever again.