Post by Kenneth Franklyn (@kenfrank)

One Year Without You, Mama
June 5, 2025 – June 5, 2026_

Today marks one year since the world went quieter.
One year since your laugh stopped filling our compound, since your hands stopped blessing our food, since “Nwa m, come and eat” became a memory instead of a call.

Ezinne nwanyi oma, they say time heals. But a year later, the house still waits for your footsteps. I still turn when I hear someone say “Mama” — and for half a second, I believe it’s you. I still reach for the phone to tell you small news, before I remember. You left us, but grief didn’t leave me.

The church is not the same. St. Joseph’s choir lost its strongest alto. When they sing “Panis Angelicus” on Sundays, there’s a space where your voice used to hold the whole line together. The sisters ask about you. The children you taught catechism to still mention “Mama choir” in their prayers.

Your grandchildren ask me, “When is Grandma coming back from her long journey?” I have no answer except tears and stories. So I tell them how you used to sneak them extra meat, how you prayed the rosary while pounding yam, how you said “God’s time is the best” even on hard days. I’m keeping you alive in their memory, the way you kept us alive with your love.

Mama, we miss you more than words. But I know you’re resting now. No more pain, no more sickness, no more goodbyes at the hospital gate. You fought well. You loved well. You finished your race.

We love you endlessly, but God loves you more — and He was right to call His good and faithful servant home.

Rest in peace, my foundation, my prayer warrior, my Ezinne.
Until we meet again at the foot of the Cross…
Stay well, Mama. We’ll see you someday.

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