Some days, the weight of life hits differently. Today was one of those days. My heart felt heavy before my feet even hit the floor. My children woke up this morning with sadness in their eyes and questions on their lips: “Where’s daddy?” How do you answer that without falling apart?
We sat together, huddled in prayer, whispering cries to the only One who can hold us together. “Lord, help us get through today.” That was our only ask.
Yesterday didn’t offer much relief either. In fact, every Wednesday breaks me open in places I didn’t know could still bleed. It was a Wednesday when my husband, Apostle John Enumah, left this world. Sometimes, I replay that day in my mind, hoping to find a different ending. Other times, I numb myself to it just to function.
“In Death with Christ, You Are Carried”
Not long ago, I stumbled across a sermon John preached—his voice so clear, so alive. In it, he said,
“In death with Christ, you are carried, but without Him, it’s just death.”
That line struck my soul. Was it a prophetic anchor God knew I would need? Yes, there's peace in knowing he was carried, but I’d be lying if I said it stops the haunting question: Why me? Why now? Why him?
The Blame Game in Grief
Grief does strange things to the mind. You want to make sense of senseless loss. You want to blame someone. Was it the football club that didn’t look closely enough? Did the medics do all they could? Was he in pain? Did he hide something to protect me?
Then come the questions I aim inward: “Could I have done more?” Earlier in the year, he had a fall. He brushed it off, and I trusted him. I replay that moment like a broken record. “If I had shouted louder… if I had insisted… maybe—just maybe…”
But the post-mortem said it was instant. He didn’t know. A silent killer, they called it. And still, I wonder if I should have known.
Grief is a Fog, Not a Straight Road
Isaiah 55:8 reminds me:
“For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways, saith the Lord.”
But knowing that and accepting that are not the same thing. I talk to God often. In some areas, I feel His gentle hand guiding me. But in this? In this fog called grief? There’s silence.
Proverbs 3:5 says:
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.”
Easier said than done, right?
Being Watched, But Also Being Covered
Another odd thing no one prepares you for is how people treat you differently. Kindness becomes abundant. Invitations are gentler. Doors open. Resources flow. Psalm 68:5 echoes loudly:
“A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling.”
I’m grateful. But I also feel like I’m living under a spotlight I never asked for. Maybe it's just that grief makes everything feel unfamiliar.
You’re Not Alone in This, Sis
If you’re reading this and walking through your own valley of loss—please hear me: You’re not alone. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to question. It’s even okay to be angry and confused. God can handle all of it. Even your silence. Even your rage. Even your heartbreak.
According to the Office for National Statistics (UK), nearly 42,000 women become widowed each year—and among those, almost half report severe mental health distress within the first year. Yet, so few talk openly about what that darkness really feels like.
I believe our healing begins in our honesty. Our strength is forged in shared stories.
Finding Purpose in Pain
As I navigate this journey, I’m learning that pain can lead to purpose. It’s not easy to see, but I’m beginning to understand that my experiences can help others. Sharing our stories creates a bond. It reminds us that we’re not alone in our struggles.
When I think about the women who have walked this path before me, I feel a sense of connection. Their stories inspire me. They remind me that healing is possible. Together, we can create a community of support and understanding.
The Importance of Community
Let’s talk about the power of community. When we come together, we can lift each other up. We can share our burdens and lighten the load. It’s essential to surround ourselves with those who understand our pain.
I encourage you to reach out. Find a group or a friend who resonates with your journey. Share your heart. Let’s be the village we each need.
Healing Through Sharing
So, if you’re a widow or someone grieving a deep loss, I invite you: 💬 Leave a comment below. 📝 Share your story. Let’s tell the truth about the hard days—and remind each other we’re still here. Still breathing. Still carried.
With love and trembling faith,
Josephine Enumah
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