A decade of love and loss

A pain that never fades.

Mariam ti ku" (Mariam has passed).

Those were the words that came out of my dad's mouth as he held his head and cried on the floor. I felt a lump in my throat. Of course, she had passed; she passed away an hour ago while resting on my thighs. Taking her to the hospital was just a formality; I already felt her body getting stiff, rigor mortis setting in, as she was moved lifelessly into the car that conveyed her to the hospital to be pronounced dead.

Today, September 22, 2024, marks the tenth anniversary of my sister's passing. A lot has changed since then; there's so much I can't even begin to express. September is usually a tough month for me, and I often can't wait for it to pass. But this September is different; for instance, I didn't curl up in bed and cry today, nor did I find it difficult to get out of bed. I woke up, said a little prayer for her to rest in peace, did laundry while listening to Hozier, and ate. I didn't starve myself.

It's been 10 years, but it still hurts like hell. It rained a few hours after she was buried, which was ironic because she hated the rain. I made a little joke about how she was probably tossing and turning in her new one-bedroom apartment (lol), afraid to sigh because my dad hates it, but probably grumbling about how her body would get wet. Everyone looked at me as if I was mad. I couldn't blame them; it took me a whole month after she passed before I could cry. I mean, I knew she was gone, but it was too hard to accept, and I also had no time to process it, so I delayed my grief.

My kind sister was so peaceful and never got angry. It's been 10 years, and I still don't have the courage to ask our dad where you're laid to rest. Ten years, and when I spoke to our mom today, I couldn't bring myself to remind her that it's the anniversary of your passing. Ten years, and I can't tell our brother because, coincidentally, it's his two-year wedding anniversary today. Ten years, and I can't talk to our favorite aunt because, also coincidentally (life sucks, Walahi), it's her son's 10th birthday today (I'm going to wish him a happy birthday for the first time in 10 years today). Ten years, and the pain is still fresh.

Oh, your 28th birthday was 10 days ago, and I ate cake on your behalf. I've always celebrated your birthday silently, and it's a tradition that will continue because I know how much you loved your birthdays.

Allaahummaghfir li Mariam warfa’ darajatahu fil-mahdiyyeena, wakhlufhu fee ‘aqibihi fil-ghaabireena , waghfir-lanaa wa lahu yaa Rabbal-‘aalameena, wafsah lahu fee qabrihi wa nawwir lahu feehi.

(O Allah, forgive Mariam and elevate her rank among the righteous. Replace her with goodness in her offspring among the survivors. Forgive us and her, O Lord of the worlds. Expand her grave and illuminate it for her).

Continue to rest in peace, Adesope Oyindamola Mariam.