How do you come back from laying your own child to rest? Did I really lose her to a pair of boots? What does everyone think of me? What modern-day mom doesn’t stay on guard?

“For none of us lives to himself, and none of us dies to himself. For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord. So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s. For to this end, Christ died and lived again, that He might be Lord both of the dead and the living” Romans 14:7-9 ESV

The air is so heavy. I have wept so much that my eyes look like they are about to fall off, so I have been wearing sunglasses so no one can see that I’m dying. I don’t think Yanga can even look at or talk to me. He reassured me that we would get through this together, but hey, I had one job: to make sure the kid was safe.

“We would like to call out the family to pour soil onto the coffin,” the Pastor announces. I feel like I can’t walk. Yanga held my hand, and we walked together. I don’t recall what happened again after that, and I just found myself in the car with splashes of water on my face.

“Inna Lillahi Wa Inna Ilaihi Rajiun.” Quran 2:156

I take a walk back to what now is my daughter’s grave, so small. Surrounded by sunflowers, she was so obsessed with them.

“One day at a time,” Yanga says as he walks alongside me to make sure I have enough strength. Now that I think about it, he hasn’t shed even one drop of a tear. Is this strength? Have I made this journey only about me? How has space been held for him? How is he doing?