- May 24, 2025
- 4 min read
Writer: Josephine Enumah
Published: May 24, 2025
Reading Time: 4 minutes
⭐️ Rated 5.0 | 1 Review
Originally penned on Sunday, September 15, 2024—my birthday.
It’s taken me 8 months to share this journal entry. I couldn’t imagine letting these raw, broken words see the light of day at the time. But healing isn’t linear, and grief doesn’t always give us permission to speak when we want to. I’m sharing this now because someone, somewhere, might be sitting in their own silent storm—just as I was. This was my heart then. And while time has moved forward, some truths still remain.
Reflections on My Birthday
Sunday, September 15, 2024. It’s my birthday. Today, instead of blowing out candles, I’m trying to extinguish a pain that feels all-consuming. My mind races, my heart aches, and I’ve decided to do the one thing that gives me some relief—write. My daughter, wise beyond her years, always says, “Mommy, write it down.” She gets that from her dad, a writer at heart. But even as I write, there’s this gnawing blame that creeps in. I can’t help but wonder if there’s something I could’ve done. Was there a sign I missed?
Haunted by Questions
I’m haunted by questions. Why didn’t I fight harder? Why didn’t I know? Could I have changed the outcome? They call it Sudden Death— as though giving it a name makes it easier to accept. But how can a healthy man, who prided himself on taking care of his body, just drop dead? It doesn’t make sense. My husband, John, was the picture of health. No sugar, playing sports as though he was still 20—proud of his vitality at 39. How does that just end without warning?
Wrestling with Faith
I find myself asking God—Why him? It’s not a challenge to God’s authority. I know He’s sovereign. John would always say, “God knows the end from the beginning,” quoting his favourite scripture, Isaiah 46:10. But I’m still wrestling with the why. Why take him now? Why this way? Is there something I’m not meant to understand?
Last Memories
I remember the last message John preached at church. He joked with Sister F, “Have you ever heard of me being sick? Have you ever seen me in the hospital?” He was so proud of his health. And yet, just like that, he was gone. God could have taken him at any time—I know that. But I find myself trying to make sense of it. Was there something I missed? I had been worried that last week. John noticed, “You look worried. Are you concerned about my health?” I admitted, “Yes, you’re taking on too much.” And with his usual conviction, he responded, “I’ve got to do what my Father is asking me to do.”
Questioning My Actions
But didn’t God know this would happen? Why didn’t I insist, kick up a fuss? I can’t stop replaying these thoughts. I keep hearing Romans 8:28, “And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose.” But God, why would You choose me to go through this? Why do You think I’m strong enough to survive this?
A Mother’s Struggle
I appreciate Your confidence in me, Lord, I really do. But I’m questioning everything about myself right now. John was the fun parent, yet the one who kept the kids in line. They adored him, always seeking his approval. They admired his faith and his love for God. How can I ever match that?
Yearning for a Miracle
It’s been 25 days since John passed. And despite everything, there’s still a small part of me that yearns for a miracle. I can’t help but secretly hope that God will resurrect him, give him back to us. But then I wonder, is my desire for John’s return really about him—or is it just to soothe my pain?
Finding Peace in Grief
God took him for a reason, of that I’m sure. Yet I’m plagued with thoughts of what I could’ve done differently. Could I have changed the course of events? I suppose I’ll never know. And maybe that’s part of the journey—the surrender, the trust, the faith that God’s plan is beyond my understanding.
Clinging to Hope
As I reflect on my loss, I cling to Psalm 34:18: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” In this valley of grief, I find solace in knowing that I am not alone. I may not have all the answers, but I hold onto the truth that God is with me through it all. And perhaps, just perhaps, that’s enough for now.
Looking back, I see a woman who was drowning in questions but still choosing to write, to wrestle, and to believe. I’m proud of her. And if you’re reading this and navigating your own loss, know this: your voice matters—even if it trembles, even if it takes months to speak. God sees, God hears, and God is near. Healing may not be loud or quick—but it is happening.
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