It was only 43 days, from January 16th to February 28th, 2025.

They are with Him now

Just 43 short days between losing my father and my mother. It felt surreal—impossible, even. My mind couldn’t fathom the weight of it. “This can’t be happening,” I whispered to myself, barely holding on to the last conversation I’d had with her just two days before. Yet, here I was, standing on the edge of an unimaginable truth.

I wept until my body ached and there were no more tears left to cry. My heart, heavy with sorrow, was plagued with endless questions. How can I possibly accept this? Where do I run from this unbearable truth? The grief consumed me, and in the silence of my brokenness, I turned to God with every doubt and question I could muster.

And then, God whispered back: “This is not about you but about them and Me.”

I felt a strange, sudden stillness. In my anguish, I was reminded of the words from Jeremiah 1:5: “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you; before you were born, I set you apart.” It was a small comfort, knowing my parents’ lives were ordained long before my heartache. But the pain still lingered, sharp and relentless.

My relationship with God became raw, exposed in ways I hadn’t known before. I was weak, unable to navigate this on my own. There was no one left to shield me from the storm. I realized then that this was a journey I now had to walk with God first… then with my loved ones and friends.

“I lift up my eyes to the mountains— where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.” (Psalm 121:1-2)

Every day felt fragile, a reminder of the fleeting nature of life. But I also felt the depth of God’s love more than ever. Each breath, each moment, was a gift from the One who created us in His image. His love would never fail, not even now.