My Sister Died in February, Forever Changing What the Month of Love Means to Me

My elder sister died in February. A month the world labels for love has, for me, been forever changed in the way I see it. . This past Sunday, when the pastor asked members to go around shaking hands and welcoming each other to the new month, my stomach tightened into a knot. A wave of grief washed over me all over again.

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She was only four years older than me, but it never felt that way. When she needed to be a disciplinarian, she was. When she needed to be my best friend, she stepped into that role effortlessly. She was the one who taught me so much about life. I remember her reading fairy tales and telling me stories when we were little. She would dress me, feed me, fight with me, and basically train me in wisdom. We could fight one minute and be best friends the next. Anyone who tried to come between us just became the third party, so even our parents did not dare.

In our teens we squabbled a lot, but we always forgave each other, and we grew even closer in the love bond we shared. My sister paved the way for me in life. When I was ready to go to secondary school, all the support came from her. I chose the university I went to because she was there, and she made my life comfortable in every way possible. She was a fashionista with magic hands for beauty and creativity. Every nice thing I owned, she bought. The first braids on my head, she did. Movies at SilverBird, eating at fine restaurants, my first birthday cake as an adult… every life decision went to her table, to be discussed, moulded, and corrected. From buying items, to food, to relationships, I went to her.

I did not need a boyfriend in school because I had my sister. She was my support system, navigating her own path and pointing out her mistakes so I would not fall into the same errors.

Unfortunately, my sister was not so lucky in love. She fell into the wrong man’s hands and became a single mother. But she still lived her life to the full, enjoyed the good moments and prayed through the bad, always keeping her head above water. We were once duped by scammers together, and we lamented and laughed through it all. We have so many stories to tell.

I remember when she was pregnant. I stood behind the window of the labour ward listening to my sister cry out for mercy from God.  I was in tears, praying hard, and more than overjoyed when her baby boy was born. I would tease her with that birth story many times after.

Last year, my sister was diagnosed with Ovarian Cancer, stage 3C. We had entered the new year with so many glorious plans, and everything came to a standstill. It became a time of prayer, surgeries, and chemotherapy. My sister spent months in the hospital and became a shell of herself. I watched her turn into someone else, the way her eyes would twitch in pain when they poked her with needles, the constant medicines, the endless days in that bed. I saw her bubbly spirit become trapped in a body that refused to fight the cancer. We believed with our whole hearts she would be healed. We believed God would come through for her, and we even imagined how we would dance and testify when it was our turn. But God healed her in His own special way by calling her to rest. We were heartbroken. For me, a part of me died too. And for her son, he never got to experience the amazing mother she would have been.

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This coming Valentine’s Day, I cannot help but think about my lovely, lovely sister—her amazing smile, her tender heart, her love for adventure. I believe she is in a better place, but I miss her so much. I wish more awareness could be raised for ovarian cancer. It is a terrible thing that creeps in with no warning and cuts love short.

—HAZEL

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