Sitting at the edge of her bed that early morning, with her diary and a pen in her hands. The cold winds blowing and her heavy tears, which were glistening from the reflection of the sunrise that pierced through the windows of her room, dripped from her cheeks onto the pages of her diary, as she wrote:
Dear Jakob,
I'm trying. I'm trying so much to be strong, not just for me but for our kids too. I'm trying so much not to hurt myself. I'm trying so much not to get angry with you Jakob because I do miss you. I'm seated here wondering why you had to leave us so soon.
The weight feels heavier every morning when I wake up in bed, empty and cold. And then I long for your warm embrace and sweet forehead kisses in the morning. Now it feels like it's been forever.
I do have flashbacks of how our kids, Ariah and Junior would come running into our rooms in the morning with chants of
“Good morning Mum”
“Good morning Dad” they'll greet, with happy voices.
And I'll watch as you'll playfully lift Junior in your arms and hug Ariah who'll cling tightly to your legs, while still rubbing her eyes from sleep.
I would watch silently from the bed as you hold that funny little early morning conversation with them about their nights and nightmares.
“Good morning my little soldiers. Hope you had a great night champs?” you'll ask.
"Yes," they'll chorus.
And when you think, they'll stop there. Junior will go ahead to tell you about his nightmare.
"But, Dad I had another nightmare"
"Another one? What's it this time?" you'll reply
"A monster."
"A monster? Again? Don't worry Daddy's going to teach you how to fight monsters later today. so that when they come again in your dream you'll fight them off. Alright?"
Junior will innocently nod his head.
"Alright go with your elder sister Ariah and get prepared for school. Daddy will drive you guys to school today" you'll reply.
And together we'll watch them skid out of the room happily.
I still remember it all
But Jakob, now it feels different and difficult because all they do when they come to greet me in the morning is ask about you Jakob over and over again.
The painful part is that I'd look at my kids and not have a reply for them.
It breaks my heart every morning when they ask me.
"Mummy, when is Dad coming home?".
It breaks my heart when they ask
"Mummy, when will we get to visit Dad at work?".
And all I do is reassure them we will when I know it's all a lie.
Jakob, I've tried to put on a brave face but daily these questions are crumbling the barricade I placed over my emotions. Daily I keep reaching my breaking limit.
The worst part is how your family, weeks after your burial, have stripped us bare of the little security you left for us. The cars, the house, the savings everything Jakob.
Now all I have left to raise these kids is God and the beautiful memories you left behind. Now, I know it's true what they say about other things leaving but the memories staying. Because they are like your loyal friends, they never leave. They stay with you.
Jakob, if only I could see you one last time again, to tell you how I feel. To tell you how I'm trying so hard to keep being strong in this unfair fight. To understand why the world will be so unfair to take a man like you at his prime. To tell you how much your kids miss you. To tell you that sometimes. I feel like punching the wall but for the sake of our kids, I'll swallow it all. I feel like yelling at intervals but because of our kids, I rather lock myself inside every day to cry.
I miss you, Jakob, we do. I smell you everywhere at home. So since I can't see you physically to tell you how I feel. I chose to document it in this little diary of mine, hoping that you get to read it from above.
Though it's been tough, and I've grieved way too much. I just want to let you know that, I promise to do my best henceforth, to be strong for me and the kids. I promise to gather the strength and courage to tell them that Daddy isn't coming home again.
I hope you keep praying and looking after us from above.
From your loving wife.
Just at the last scribble of her pen, she put her pen and diary down. Cleaned her face, stood up and braced herself. Because she knew that once she stepped out her bedroom door she was done lying to her kids about the whereabouts of their father.
She didn't know how she was going to do it so as not to break or hurt them. But she knew that the earlier she told them, the better it was for them. Because if she was going to be strong enough to raise her kids she needed to stop hurting.
Getting them to know the truth will stop them from asking her about their father's whereabouts, and in turn, stop her from hurting whenever they ask.
Also, they could heal together.
With a deep breath, she walked out the door.
--------- Few weeks later --------
Now she was standing over her husband's grave with her kids and flowers in their hands. They were there to say their goodbyes.
So she could be able to focus on training her kids and fighting for what rightfully belonged to them, her husband's property which was unlawfully taken away from them. So she thought.
She knows she is ready, determined, stronger and more focused now.
She is who she thinks she is. She is Valencia.