Danielle | Germany

Loss, pain and inner brokenness.

Everything collapsed inside me.  
And I had no control anymore.

Covid.  
Lockdown.  
Pain.  
Loss.  
Helplessness.

The world stopped.  
And for me… everything fell apart.

It was a Saturday morning.

A quiet morning.  
Almost ordinary.

I had woken up gently,  
with that rare feeling of lightness.

I was on leave.

Finally.

A week to breathe.  
To slow down.  
To live differently.

I had plans.  
So many ideas in my mind.

And above all…  
I was happy.

And then…

the phone rang.

It was my aunt.

From the very first seconds,  
I knew something was wrong.

Her voice was shaking.

She told me my mother  
had collapsed in the middle of the market.  
That she had been rushed to the hospital.

And in an instant…  
everything shifted.

My reality changed.

Everything happened so fast.  
Too fast.

The days that followed were a battle.

A battle in prayer.  
In decisions.  
Against time.

I was searching for solutions.

I refused to accept  
that this could end badly.

I wanted to bring her to Europe,  
to be close to me.

I kept telling myself  
she would have better chances here.

But the lockdown had just begun.

Borders were closing.  
One after another.

As if every door  
was shutting right in front of me.

Everywhere…  
the same answer.

Impossible.

One door closing.  
Then another.

There was one last option.

To operate on site.

I held onto it.  
Like a final hope.

But even that…  
was not possible.

Specialized doctors were stuck in Europe.
They couldn’t come.

And that’s when…

I started to understand.

I had no more solutions.  
No more control.

There was nothing I could do.

That feeling…  
of total helplessness…  
I had never known it before.

So I clung to God.

With everything I had.

I prayed without stopping.

I asked Him to intervene.  
To heal her.

And deep inside…  
I still believed He would.

But His plan…  
was different.

The following Saturday…  
everything changed.

It was Holy Saturday.

And that day…

God called her home.

That night,  
I didn’t sleep.

Not even a minute.

I prayed.  
Again.  
And again.

As if staying awake 
could still change something.

Around 4 a.m.…  
my phone rang.

It was one of my cousins.

His voice felt strange.  
Muted.

He said:  
“Grandma is gone.”

I got angry.

I told him not to say that.  
Not now.  
Not like that.

Because deep down…  
I knew.

But I refused.

When I hung up…  
something inside me collapsed.

Not on the outside.

Inside.

As if a part of me  
had disappeared with her.

But I didn’t fall apart.

Not right away.

I didn’t have the right.

I am the eldest.

My brothers needed me.  
My family too.

So I held on.

While everything around me  
was breaking.

My aunts were collapsing.  
Some were hospitalized.

Pain was everywhere.

And me…

I had to stay standing.

Organize.  
Decide.  
Carry.

Even saying goodbye  
had become complicated.

The lockdown made everything harder.

So I kept moving.

Like on autopilot.

I did what had to be done.

But inside…

I was fading.

I didn’t cry.  
Not yet.

Weeks went by.

And one day…

without warning…

reality caught up with me.

I picked up my phone.

Out of habit.

Like every day.

I wanted to call her. 
Talk to her.  
Tell her about my day.

Like before.

I called her…

And then…

everything stopped.

She will never answer again.

Never.

That moment…  
hit me completely.

As if everything I had held back…  
for weeks…  
exploded all at once.

I collapsed.

Completely.

Broken.  
Lost.  
Empty.

A pain I didn’t even know was possible.  
A pain that takes over everything.

That takes your breath away.  
That makes you lose your footing.

I felt alone.  
Deeply alone.

My mother wasn’t just my mother.

She was everything to me.

She was part of my everyday life.

I talked to her almost every day.

Sometimes about nothing.  
Sometimes about everything.

She knew my voice.

Even when I said I was okay…  
she knew when I wasn’t.

It was simple.  
Natural.  
Obvious.

She was there.

Always.

And without her…

there was a silence  
I didn’t know how to live with.

So the emotions took over.

And inside…

anger began to rise.

At people.  
Their words.  
Their reactions.

Sometimes their silence.

Some wanted to help…  
but didn’t understand.

And it hurt.

But most of all…

I was angry at God.

Because I trusted Him.  
Because I had prayed.  
Because I believed.

And yet…

God did not heal her.

I didn’t understand.

And I didn’t want to understand.

I kept praying.  
I kept going to church.

But deep inside…

nothing changed.

Nothing.

One Sunday…  
at church…  
they announced deaths.

Elderly people.

70 years old.
80 years old. 
90 years old. 
And more.

And my mother…

57.

I couldn’t accept it.

I walked out.

Angry.  
Crying.

I shouted at God.

I didn’t understand.

Why her?  
Why now?  
Why so soon?

And still…

silence.

Days passed.  
Weeks too.

And without even realizing it…

I fell.

Slowly.  
Silently.

Into depression.

And in the middle of that night…

I still couldn’t see any light.

“My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
why art thou so far from helping me, and from the words of my roaring?“
— Psalm 22:2 (KJV)

Danielle | Germany