The ground began to shake; the stone was rolled away. His perfect love could not be overcome. Now death, where is your sting our resurrected King has rendered you defeated.
From the depths of despair and darkness` grip comes the boldest joy in resurrection life. He is alive!.
From hopelessness grief of death, comes a new way forward, a kingdom born eternal life. And we hold onto that truth as the air we breathe.
As we step into our last month of the stories of hope series, which is also our Easter month, we are honoured to have Mable Barbara Amuron as our 5th Guest. She is a multi-talented, award-winning creative with a passion for the written word. A writer, an editor, and most importantly, a reader. She enjoys watching words become something coherent and something that can entertain, inform and inspire.
Her blog amuron.com was recently nominated for Best Personal Blog of 2020 by Afrobloggers. You need to check it out. Also, you can reach her on her socials twitter.com/Mablees and instagram.com/mableamuron/
Around of applause for my girl, so glad to have you make your words become something coherent on this blog!
I don’t remember my father. I can’t conjure up his face. There was even a time I had forgotten his name. When I see photos of him, he seems like someone familiar yet a stranger still. I have his teeth, I am told. I was 3 when he died, so I don’t remember him at all. I have heard things be said about him. I have heard that he was a man who minded his own business; he was a quiet man and cared for his siblings. The legacy of his that I hold is in my name. Amuron. Healer.
I remember my mother. I remember her passion. I remember her anger. I remember how fiery she was. She was a woman meant for great things. Her essence could not be contained in her body. She suffered no patience and expected the best for and of me. She died when I was fifteen.
I remember my best friend. Alex. I remember his love for black forest cake. He had sickle cell anaemia. He had such a big heart. His funeral service was so full. Full of people that loved and cared for him. He was crazy, but he was kind. Movie stars never die in their movies. His movie just ended in the middle of a scene, and the credits were rolled unceremoniously. He taught me to embrace my talent. He taught me to love my words. He told me the world would love my words, I believed him, and here I am. His death hit me hard. I sometimes wonder who he’d be today had he lived.
I remember my sister. I remember her smile. I remember her shining. She was the spitting image of our mother. She was complicated but manageable. She was a fantastic company. She would frustrate me and, in the same breath, make me laugh. I remember her strength and resilience. If I went through half of what that girl went through, I’d have given up a long time ago. I remember how she didn’t like to disturb us with her pain. I remember her silent tears. I remember her confusion after every seizure she’d have. I remember my helplessness. I remember her depression.
Tragedies are hard to go through. All these deaths shaped some part of who I am. Although I don’t remember my father, his DNA created me. As a child, I was meant to find my father’s identity, but I didn’t have that. So, I grew up very unsure of who I was and my place in the world. For so long, I missed someone I never knew because my reality sucked. I used to daydream that he would come, sweep me away and save me. I was a lost child hoping for some identity to understand who I was. To know that I belonged… somewhere.
The pain of loss is not one I’d wish on my worst enemy. Loss of any kind is painful to go through, but the death of a loved one is even harder because of its finality. I love all these people that I have lost, and the love doesn’t go away just because they are not on this plane of existence. Grief, in and of itself, is complicated.
I am forever grateful for the fact that I am a Christian. Because of that, I believe that I will see my people again. I will hug them again. I am forever grateful for my faith in Christ, because of that, I am what I am today. This belief defines my identity. The belief helped keep things in perspective when I was raging against a God that would take away my best friend (29) and my baby sister (22) when their lives had barely began. This belief helped me come to terms with their death and confront the darkness that followed the funerals. This belief mended the heart that was broken by life and loss.
I will always be a believer. That will not change. This is something that I have purposed. The way I see things has changed over time. The way I view Christianity has changed. My mind has grown. But my belief in Christ hadn’t changed since I decided to go that way when I was 7 and this is how I am okay even after all that I have gone through and what I have lost.
Loss is hard. Should you need someone to talk to, don’t hesitate to reach out.
What is grief, if not love persevering – WandaVision