Upside down.

I stepped off the flight the happiest girl in the world.

It had been four months since I last saw the love of my life. I hadn’t even seen him yet, but I already pictured him. A hoodie, sweatpants, a very big bouquet of flowers in his hand, and the widest smile ever.

I had waited for today for so long. I had even been counting down. I was so excited! I made my way down to the waiting area, and then I saw him. My man!!!!

I ran with all my strength and practically jumped into his arms. I hugged him so tight. I was so excited. I thought I knew how happy I would be, but seeing him now after all these months, my heart felt like it was going to explode with joy. I couldn’t stop thinking about how excited I was.

As we made our way toward the car, in the distance I noticed another family. They were also expecting someone. But it was a corpse. There were five of them. My brain did the math. Both parents, two siblings, and a lover. Her husband? Fiancé maybe? Or was he just her boyfriend?

These people were waiting to receive what was left of someone they deeply loved. Their lives had just been turned upside down. My heart broke into a thousand pieces as I took in the scene. All the excitement and joy I had felt seeing my husband dropped from a hundred to zero in a minute.

God, how would these people survive? I was going home to my husband, my joy, my safe place. He had prepared a feast for me. We were going to spend the night catching up, soaking in each other’s presence, just being happy and in love. But somewhere across town, a family was experiencing pain that couldn’t be weighed on a scale.

My mind reeled. My husband understood. I was that empathetic. The kind of person who cries at the sight of a body being wheeled out of a hospital, not because I knew them, but because my tender heart reached into other people’s pain and tried to carry some of it.

And that day, I cried. Actually, I wept. Because somewhere across town, that’s what that family was doing too. I imagined myself standing where they were, waiting to receive the body of someone I loved. My heart broke again. My mood nearly crumbled. I went quiet. My husband understood. I love him for that. He knows how soft my heart is, and he holds space for it.

I had questions. How did she die? Was she sick? Was it sudden? Did she know Christ? How would her family cope? Was that her husband? Did she have kids? Was he about to propose? Will he heal? Will he be able to love again? What about her best friend?

And then it hit me. Every single day, we just live — no real sobriety, no reminder that one day, we might just die. No visible clock counting down. We can’t see it. We don’t know.

One minute, this family was doing okay. The next, they got a call that would alter their lives forever.

And on Sunday, we’d go to church, and our pastor would say, “Thank God that you’re in the sanctuary and not in the mortuary.”

Hmm. Should I, really? What about the siblings of the woman who died? Her parents? Her partner? While we’re thanking God for being alive, what should they say? Doesn’t it sting? Doesn’t it sound like God didn’t extend His mercy to them?

I didn’t have the answers to any of these questions. But I prayed. I prayed for that family. I prayed for comfort, for peace, and — as strange as it might seem — for joy. Because if I could feel this burden so heavily, how much more would they feel?

I prayed in silence, tears still streaming down my face.

I was still lying there when I heard the door open. My husband stood in the doorway.

“Babe.”

“Huh?”

“Do you want me to bring a mop? You’ve flooded the room with your tears,” he said dramatically.

I laughed. In fact, I laughed so hard.

Somehow, he always knew how to make me smile, in every situation. He handed me a tissue to wipe my tears. I let out a deep breath. I had truly cried enough. But in that moment, after laughing, I knew in my heart that someday, that family would laugh again too. Maybe not today, definitely not as soon as I had. But one day, they would. I was so sure.

I’d never fully understood grief. I didn’t know how I would deal with it if someone that close to me passed. But one thing I knew for sure was that I would have God. He would never leave me. He would be there for me. He would not let it overwhelm me. I would feel the pain. Deep pain. But it wouldn’t consume me. I would cry, but I would also laugh again.

My husband came over and playfully lifted me from the seat.

“Don’t cry, my baby,” he sang with his terribly off-key voice.

I laughed again.

I went to freshen up, came back to eat. We watched a movie, stayed up talking till 3 a.m., and finally went to bed.

I don’t know at what point I forgot the tragedy I witnessed that evening, but I did. And I still had a beautiful night back home. I’ll probably remember another day. It might make me sad again. I’ll pray again. And life will continue.

Life will continue…It will.

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Hello!

I know you were not expecting from me till Monday but…

I love writing so much. A little too much, even.
So, I started writing on Substack. Weekly newsletters that I send out every Monday but the truth is? I probably get a thousand more (I’m exaggerating) ideas to write during the week, and I really like creative writing.

Even though I usually stick to routine, this morning, I had this piece in my head, and I decided to start writing it before leaving for class.

I really love to write fiction and I don’t think I have ever written a first-person-narrative fiction, but I did today, and decided to share it.

This story is purely fictional, but little pieces of me are in it. For example, that part about empathy? That’s 100% me. If I see someone crying, I’ll probably start crying too.

I remember once going to visit someone who had lost her child. I was in her room, helping her fold clothes and tidy up. I didn’t even realize when I started crying. She ended up consoling me.

Another time, I heard that a girl in our neighborhood had died. I’d never met her. All I knew was that Aisha, who was sixteen, passed away very tragically that morning.

I found out before going to school (I was still in primary school), and I felt sad all day. That night, I lay on my bed and cried for so long, both my parents came to check on me. I remember that night clearly.

And when my friend lost her mom? I had only seen her mom once, but the news hit me hard. I cried so much that night we ended up doing night devotion in my room because I was to weak from crying to come out.

That’s just how much of an empath I am.

This story came from one of the deep corners of my empathetic heart, or maybe from excessively listening to Yield by Gaise Baba. I’m not exactly sure what you’ll take from it, if you take anything at all. But even if you don’t, that’s okay. It was just another read.