DEATH CAME VISITING

I always knew it would come… someday, but not now. Not like this.

Photo by Grant Whitty on Unsplash

Death knocked on our door, came in uninvited on the 19^th of June, 2025, and took my Gmama away

“G’mama is dead.”

That was the message I received from my siblings’ group chat on WhatsApp as I stepped into work on Thursday.

I froze, my chest tightened, a panic attack hit me before I could even sit down. The room spun, My breathing staggered, the air just… left.

Is a Lie? How did you know? When? Why now?

I had just spoken to her on Tuesday, I saw her a week before, She was fine, we laughed, We talked! So what do you mean she’s gone?

They said she slept and didn’t wake up. Just like that.

Like every other day, she laid down to rest… But this time, she didn’t return. No warning, No final words, No goodbye.

I can’t stop replaying it in my head. She must have thought she would open her eyes again, She must have expected another morning; We all did.

What if she knew she was going to die that day?
Because my mom said she had been asking for mercy all through the week, and she kept saying, “God has shown me mercy.”
She wasn’t praying to be fine or healthy… her words were “Mercy.”
Could it be that she knew?

Death has its own timing. It doesn’t wait for the right moment, It doesn’t care if you’re ready or not. It just… takes.

Death, why our home now?

Why now, when we’re already overwhelmed—moving houses, changing location, trying to find balance? Why now, when everything already feels like too much?

We’re now planning a burial, for someone who has always just been here. And I still can’t believe it.

I cried, My siblings cried too, I couldn’t function properly at work. Thank God for my nice boss who gave me the rest of the weekend off, It was a tough, terrible, soul-crushing day.

My mom cried, and that shattered me the most—seeing my mother break.

Gmama has been with us for 20+ years. Practically all my life. Gmama wasn’t just a grandmother, She was home. She was presence, A rhythm in the walls of our house. Can’t believe I’m speaking of her in past tense, crazy!

I remember telling Elizabeth last month that I had this strange feeling Gmama would leave soon. We cancelled it and asked God to still keep her for a while, so I could make enough money.

I was like, “Before Gmama dies, I should be rich enough to fly for her burial. I don’t want any road trip, 'cause I’m scared of traveling. We need money so we’ll honour her properly.”

I had dreams, you know? That when that day come, I’d have money. Enough to fly, enough to celebrate her like royalty.

Besides, it was this month we started planning her 95th birthday celebration, Mummy asked me to take up the planning process and I felt so happy.

But Gmama didn’t wait, She didn’t wait for me to become rich, She didn’t wait for me to fall in love, get married, or hand her a great-grandchild she could rock and sing to.

She didn’t wait for me to show my skill as a Project Manager with her Birthday Celebration, It was close, October!!! Now, I’m planning a burial, I feel so terrible, I don’t even know how to go about it, I hate burials, I hate death and Gmama knows how scared I can get, but then She just… left.

That’s the thing about death, One minute they’re here—talking, laughing, praying… The next, it’s just silence; Final silence.

Sometimes I walk through the house and still expect her voice. Still expect to hear her call my name… “Ifeoma.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Are you back?”

But the house is too quiet now.

On Saturday, we were all in the sitting room—Daddy, Mummy, Bethel, Mummy Delight. I brought corn so we could share, like old times, but her chair sat empty.

And it hit me again: She’s really gone.

In the middle of the grief, I tried something. I started mimicking Gmama—the funny things she’d say, the way she’d dance and sing her favourite song, the way she’d look at us with that half-serious, half-laughing face, and Mummy laughed. She laughed deeply. And for a moment, her heart softened.

Even in death, Gmama was still making us laugh, still healing.

But that’s what grief does. It takes you in circles—laughing one moment, then crumbling the next.

Even now, writing this, tears are streaming down my face, because I miss her. And yes, she was old… But it still hurts. Because when someone becomes a part of your everyday, their absence doesn’t make sense.

Life is fickle. It’s a puff of smoke. A morning mist.

Because tell me…

Why didn’t Gmama go with her favourite spoon? Or her hot water Flask? Her cup? Her special broom she guarded like treasure? None of it followed her. She went alone. And now we are left with memories, echoes, and lessons.

So in all your chasing—money, fame, love, applause—pause.

Please pause and seek Christ.

Because this world? It will fade. But a life in Him is the only true gain.

Beautiful Woman

And I must tell you this:

You should have seen Gmama in death. She looked beautiful. She was smiling. That’s when I knew for sure— She’s with Jesus. She served God faithfully, and now, she rests in Him. The smile on face was the comfort we got that she’s in a better place.

The testimonies people share about her? Pure, good, honest and full of grace. Everyone has something beautiful to say, and I’m proud, so proud to be her grandchild.

Yes, we are mourning. We are grieving. We are broken.

But we are also thankful because Gmama lived and loved, and left a mark.

Sleep well, Gmama Rosemary Ekeoma

This house will never forget you.

I will never forget you.

You may be gone…But your memory?

It lives in every song, every laugh, every quiet moment.

I love you forever.

Rest easy!

Love,

Fayvourebirth.