I LIVE BECAUSE OF HIM

 

On September 26, 2016, the world took away a piece of my heart. My daughter-in-law, Aaliyah, the woman who was like a daughter to me, passed away from leukemia. She had only been in Las Vegas for two years with my son before the disease took her from us. The grief was sudden and overwhelming, and I could hardly comprehend the weight of the loss. The pain hit me so hard that I felt as if the world had collapsed beneath me, and my heart, shattered. She was a constant in my life, and losing her felt like losing a part of myself.

Just two years later, on February 6, 2019, another loss came—this time, a granddaughter,  was taken too soon. She was just 19, two weeks shy of turning 20. Her heart failed her. The news came suddenly, and I found out in the most heartbreaking way. Her roommate had to force the apartment door open to find her lying against it, already gone. It’s a grief that is difficult to put into words, a loss of youth and promise that felt entirely too cruel.

As if that wasn’t enough, another tragedy struck. Two months later, a grandson, was killed in a double hit-and-run accident - a white pickup truck, and a car. This one actually made it to the news! He was only 22. His life was cut short in an instant. A flash of anger surged through me as I thought of his vibrant energy, his love for life, gone so quickly, so violently. The world can be such an unforgiving place.

Then, in March of 2020, it was another granddaughter, whose life ended in a car crash. She was just days away from turning 21, and her best friend, with whom she shared so much of her young life, died alongside her. The pain of these deaths—each one different yet equally devastating—left me drowning in sorrow.

In the span of four years, I buried four members of my family—four souls taken too soon. The weight of it all was unbearable. Each loss hit me in its own way, and yet, for some reason, the tears didn’t come as I thought they would. I wept uncontrollably when Aaliyah died, my heart breaking into a thousand pieces. I ended up in the hospital with what is now known as "broken heart syndrome." It's real, they say. A physical response to emotional pain. It took months to recover from the emotional and physical toll of losing her, and even today, the regret of not being able to be there with her during her illness or attend her funeral still lingers like a scar. That void, that emptiness, aches deeply.

But for the others, something in me simply shut down. When Yvonne, Emmanuel, and Marea died, the tears didn’t come. I barely cried. I felt numb, detached, and that hurt me too. I thought there was something wrong with me for not grieving the way I felt I should have. But the grief was too great, and I didn’t know how to express it. It was as if I was emotionally paralyzed by the sheer weight of the losses that had already come before them. I felt like I had no more tears to give.

Then, something shifted in me. I don’t know when it happened or how, but one day, months after the loss of Marea, I had a moment of clarity. It was a feeling, a whisper in my heart, and it came from YHWH. He spoke to me softly, saying, "I took them before they could see corruption…” … to explain, He showed me this essence: so they would not see or go through the evil that is coming onto this world.

I cannot fully explain the depth of peace that washed over me in that moment. It was as if the weight of my grief had been lifted, replaced by a profound understanding. The world is full of suffering and heartache, and I now understand why He took them from me. They were spared from the horrors and the pain that we, as humans, must endure. In that instant, I realized that His love for us is so deep, so infinite, that He chose to protect them from the suffering that was ahead. The love He has for us is beyond anything I could have imagined.

Hindsight is always 20/20, they say, and in this case, I now see things much clearer than I did before. The sorrow, the anger, the confusion—all of it has given way to understanding. I can look back now and see that the decisions He made were born out of love, even though at the time I couldn’t see it. It doesn’t make the pain go away, but it does bring me peace to know that He had their best interests at heart, even when I couldn’t understand it.

There is joy in knowing that they are asleep until Christ returns for them. They are safe, they are in a place far removed from the chaos and darkness that so often defines this world. It brings me joy to think of them free from suffering and at peace. I no longer feel angry with God for taking them. Instead, I feel gratitude for the gift of their lives and for the love He showed by sparing them from the agony that lies ahead. In a strange way, I can almost rejoice in their peace, even as I continue to grieve their absence.

Life is not fair, and sometimes we experience heartache beyond what we feel we can bear. But I have come to understand that in the midst of all the pain, there is always love. There is always a purpose, even when we can’t see it. And in that love, I find my strength. I live because of Him—because He has shown me that even in the darkest moments, there is light. He gave me the strength to survive the losses I never thought I could bear, and in the end, He gave me peace.

I now know that I will never be the same after all of this, but that’s okay. It is the mark of a life lived, of love experienced, and of grief that eventually gives way to joy. His love has been my anchor through it all.

'Nuff said.

In Christ,

Anna