Dear Mami,

This has been the hardest post to write, and I’ve been having writer’s block since you left. But that’s ok because I don’t seem to care. Nothing is the same without you. The world just seems so meaningless and it’s even worse than before.

How are you doing? I know you’re well. I’m sure you’re doing much better than me. Better than us. I can’t believe all these love letters are for deceased loved ones. But I never would have thought that you would have been here too, that I would be writing something like this to you.

I have had 9 operations, 1 almost took my life, and more tubes in and out of my body than the London underground but nothing compares to the pain of losing you, a parent, especially a parent who is my everything.

You were my best friend, and we were the same person. You were the most important person in my life; if anything happened to me, you were the first person I thought of. You always knew how to encourage me and lifted my spirits just with your words. We quarrelled and disagreed on stuff but in the end, we always made up because that is what best friends do. If I think about it hard and long enough, I could cry every day and not move from my bed.

In 2018, I was at the end of myself. I was so sick, depressed, lost and confused. No career, or a family of my own with the love of my life. This world just sucked, and I felt like what was the point. I couldn’t see the meaning or purpose of my existence. And I told you all this in a long message which you read. You called me right after as I was still in tears, and you told me “Come home. Even if you don’t feel like your life matters, it matters to me. It matters to me that you’re alive Anna”. I could hear that you were trying to be strong and hold back tears. You saved me Mami. In that house all alone I would have killed myself. I was ready to do it because I wanted to put an end to it all. You saved me once again. Through you, God brought me back so that I could spend the last 4 years with you and I’m forever grateful because beyond all the memories I’ll forever share with you, now I get to keep Dad company, but it still sucks. Seeing how much he is still grieving is so painful. I try my best to bring joy into his life and fill in a way that void you left but it’s so hard. He’s in so much pain and I wonder if it’s ever going to go away. But like you always said, it is well.

What pains me the most is what I kept repeating at the hospital on your deathbed: “You didn’t fully enjoy the fruit of your labour!”. Not the way we would have wanted anyways. You were my queen and you deserved everything and more.

When you stopped recognising me at the hospital and couldn’t respond to me any longer, I knew it was the end.

What sucks is that you won’t be here when I and Giorgia get married, or when Gaby gives birth to Sofia’s brother or any other major thing. You won’t be here. And it sucks.

You’re not around every time I have a gist or an interesting story to tell you. For when I’m sick and I need the encouragement that the miracle is around the corner. For when I have a funny story and we can laugh about it together. You’re not here anymore and it sucks.

I don’t have any regrets because I did everything to make you happy in the little that I had, and I could. All I want to say is that I miss you. I miss you so much Mami sometimes more than air. In those moments, I literally can’t breathe but I don’t even care. Life should have taken me all those years ago and spared me this pain because this sucks as nothing can bring you back ever. You were my biggest cheerleader. You believed in me more than I would ever believe in myself, and you and Dad are the only ones I know that have more faith in God than me. Thank you for always being my greatest role model.

I know God called you home for a reason: your purpose was done, and you accomplished all He asked you. You suffered so much with sicknesses and diseases. So many ambulance calls and hospital admissions. Tubes, injections, operations, you faced it all with the courage of a lioness and the faith of a champion. Modelling Christ and His sufferings, your anchor and foundation through all this. You went through a lot of pain you didn’t deserve. But then again, who deserves it?  Gaby said if you have a taste of heaven, you won’t come back. You didn’t come back so I assume you had a great meal over there. Rest well Mami. You deserve all the rest you can get. You’ve worked hard and loved hard. Your family, your church, the people around you and God. You fulfilled your assignment and therefore you can proudly say: “7 I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, and I have remained faithful. 8 And now the prize awaits me—the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give me on the day of his return. And the prize is not just for me but for all who eagerly look forward to his appearance.” (2 Timothy 4:7-8).

Rest well, my angel. I love you into eternity. Through you, God brought me here and He’s taken you. But in this, I say, it is well. No matter what, I hope you’re proud of me and that you’ll celebrate my victories from above. Words will never be enough to describe how much I love you and this is for all the times I couldn’t say it to you. But I know that you know how much I loved you. Until we meet again Mami.

Your piesie*,

Anna.      

*twi word for firstborn child. An endearing term.