
Grief has a way of sneaking up on you. Sometimes, it comes in loud, obvious moments like the funeral, the tributes, or the tears in the room. But more often, it finds you in the quiet, ordinary moments when you least expect it.
Today, I felt it fully. Today, the reality of losing two aunts in one year hit me again, and it hit hard. Memories came rushing back, bringing both sorrow and a strange, comforting sense of their presence, as if they were speaking to me one last time.
This year, I lost two remarkable aunts. My aunt Victoria, a retired, excellent chef who poured love into every dish and my aunt Doreen, a veteran pharmacist whose wisdom and faith had a way of calming hearts. Both extraordinary women. Both gone. And today, I felt the weight of that absence like never before. It even surprised me, the way it crept up on me…
Aunt Doreen was always a source of reassurance. I can still hear her words echoing in my heart:
“God is good. …. God is in control … We are Matthews. We are strong…. God doesn’t give us more than we can bear.”
Those words were never just advice. They were a lifeline, a gentle tether to hope when life felt overwhelming. They reminded you that even in our deepest struggles, faith carries us forward.

Some people say it’s easier to accept loss when someone has been ill. They are so wrong. Illness does not prepare the heart for the emptiness of their absence. Love doesn’t fade with it. Presence doesn’t disappear until the body does. And when someone you’ve laughed with, learned from, and shared life with is gone, the void is raw and undeniable.
Sitting at Aunt Doreen’s funeral, studying the expressions on the faces of loved ones, listening to the songs, the sermon… I found myself elsewhere. Back on the phone with her, hearing her laugh, her gentle encouragement, her reassuring smile. And yet, there she was, lowered into the ground. Reality hit: she was gone. And with that memory, Victoria returned again … our daily WhatsApp messages …. our video calls … her encouraging words – her passing had already left its mark. Two incredible women, two final goodbyes, one year.
Grief is patient. It lingers and loops in the quietest quarters when your guard is low and life hums its habitual hymn. It nestles in the narrow nooks of the mundane, in the spaces between small, ordinary tasks, in the stillness of a solitary space, in the pulse of a private memory. And when it lands, it overwhelms, whispering of what was… and what will never be again.
I saw it most clearly last week, watching Aunt Doreen’s casket descend, tears streaming down the faces of her family. The heaviness of the moment pressed down on me, almost unbearably. But even in that weight, I felt something subtle but undeniable: their legacy. The love, wisdom, and strength they carried endure.
Loss reminds us not only of absence but of what remains. Victoria’s creativity and passion, the joy she poured into every meal, every recipe; Doreen’s faith, her calm reassurance, her gentle smile – these live on. They live in memories in the lessons they imparted in the quiet moments when we feel them near again, guiding us, urging us to keep moving forward.

To anyone reading this who has lost someone or is still walking through the days, months, and years after a farewell: it’s okay to let grief in. To cry. To long for one more conversation, one more word of encouragement, one more smile. Grief is not a lack of faith; it is love refusing to be quiet. It is proof that someone mattered deeply.
In the midst of the ache, there is hope. God sits with us in grief. He does not rush us. He does not demand that we “move on.” He comforts, carries, and gently reminds us that even as we say goodbye in the physical, we are never truly alone.
Aunt Victoria. Aunt Doreen. You are gone from this world, but you are not gone from us. Your love, your faith, your strength – they endure. And as long as God holds us, we do not walk through grief alone.
Grief creeps in, yes. But love, memory, and faith endure even more. And sometimes, in those quiet moments when it hits hard, we are reminded that those we love never truly leave us.
By Mervin Fitzgerald Matthew | Steps of Purpose








