My Parents’ Journey: Love, Sacrifice, Loss, and What Remains

From the moment I began to understand my mother’s life, I realised how much she had endured, especially from relatives on my father’s side. Her strength was quiet, but it was unwavering. After my father passed away in 2020, the weight she carried only became heavier. Yet she continued to raise us, hold our family together, and help preserve what she and my father had built. Losing both my parents has also changed how I understand myself, grief, and the person I am becoming, something I reflected on in Reclaiming My Identity Through Grief.

This is a deeply personal reflection on my mother’s sacrifices, my parents’ journey, the complicated grief that followed their deaths, and my promise to honour her memory while leaving justice to God.

My Mother’s Endurance Through Family Struggles

My mother, Joyce Keli Makite, did not have an easy journey. Even before my father’s death, she experienced difficult moments with relatives from his side of the family. There were tensions, painful experiences, and moments when her sacrifices seemed to go unnoticed or unappreciated. At the time, I did not always understand the depth of what she was experiencing. Looking back now, I see a woman who carried more than I knew.

When my father, Simon Makite, died in 2020, everything changed. I was 21, and my siblings and I were old enough to understand that we had lost our father and that life would never be the same. But my mother had lost her husband while still having to remain a mother. She had to continue raising us, carrying responsibilities and navigating a family dynamic that had already been difficult.

She kept going.

Growing Understanding and a Heartfelt Apology

As I reflect on those years now, I find myself wishing I had understood my mother differently while she was still alive. I wish I had asked more questions. I wish I had recognised the weight she was carrying. I wish I had understood that behind the strength I saw was a woman who was also grieving, hurting and trying to hold everything together.

Mum, I am sorry.

I am sorry for the things I did not understand. I am sorry for the moments when I may have taken your strength for granted. I am sorry for the things you had to endure that I could not protect you from. Losing you has taught me that sometimes we only begin to understand our parents as whole human beings after they are gone.

I now understand that you were more than my mother. You were a woman with your own struggles, dreams, disappointments, and sacrifices. You gave so much of yourself to us, and I wish I had told you more clearly how much that meant.

Grieving the loss of both parents has changed the way I see everything they built. I now understand that the family, home, and foundation we grew up with carried pieces of both of them.

The Painful Days Around Her Burial

When my mother died in September 2025, I thought the hardest part would simply be losing her. But grief became even more painful when I witnessed how some relatives behaved after her death.

Even in death, my mother was not spared from disrespect. At her burial, I heard relatives from my father’s side speak badly about her. There were insensitive comments about “enjoying the funeral rice” (it was sweet and prepared with love, to their liking, lol), words that stayed with me because of how deeply inappropriate they felt at a time when a family was burying a mother, wife, and loved one.

Then there was property.

My mother had not even been buried when one of my uncles began talking about property. I struggled to understand how conversations about what she had left behind could begin before she had even been laid to rest.

Then he took her death permit, presenting himself as the “son-in-law” in the process. This meant he was positioned to obtain her death certificate, leaving the process and what followed largely in his hands. It felt as though decisions surrounding my mother’s death were going to be made according to his wishes, rather than respecting what my mother and her children wanted.

We eventually had to undergo a postmortem so that, through the proper process, another death permit could be obtained for her children. This was not an easy decision, especially because most of the family members were against it. But this was my mother, and her wishes and the decisions made by her children mattered. We had to stand firm and make sure that her death was handled in a way that respected her and gave her children a voice.

What made the entire situation even more painful was knowing that this was someone who barely spoke to my mother while she was alive, yet after her death, he had taken control of something so significant.

I cannot claim to know everything that was in his heart or what his intentions were. But I know what happened, I know what I witnessed, and I know how deeply it affected me.

These moments brought a different kind of grief: grief mixed with anger, confusion and a fierce desire to protect my mother even though she was no longer here.

Losing both my parents also meant learning to navigate a world without the people I once instinctively looked to for protection and guidance. I explored some of that vulnerability and the realities of Life After Loss in an earlier reflection.

What Fighting for My Mother Means

I remember telling myself that one day, I would fight for my mother. I still mean it. But I no longer see that fight as confrontation or revenge. I do not want to become consumed by anger or allow what others did to change who I am.

My fight means:

• Remembering her fully, not allowing her life to be reduced to the things people said about her.

• Telling her story honestly, including the struggles she endured and the love she gave.

• Honouring her sacrifices, especially the role she played in building our family alongside my father.

• Protecting her memory, refusing to let silence or false narratives erase who she was.

• Leaving justice to God, because I do not have to carry every battle myself.

  
  

I will speak because she can no longer speak for herself.

I will write because I do not want her story to disappear.

And I will remember because she deserves to be remembered for more than the circumstances of her death.

Holding Onto Love, Legacy, and Faith

My parents’ story is bigger than the people who hurt them. It is a story of two people who built a life together, became parents, and created a foundation for their children. It is a story of sacrifice, love, difficult seasons and perseverance. And my mother was an important part of everything they built.

I do not want the final chapters of their lives to be defined by family conflict, property, or the things people said after they were gone. I want to remember the life they built together and the woman my mother was within that life.

Coping with the loss of both parents is not simple. It becomes even more complicated when grief is mixed with family conflict, unanswered questions, and things you wish you could have changed.

But I am learning that honouring a deceased parent is not only about mourning them. It is also about remembering them truthfully, carrying forward what they gave you and refusing to let their lives be reduced to their hardest moments.

Mum, I see you now.

I see the woman behind the strength.

I see the sacrifices I once did not understand.

I see how much you carried.

And I am sorry it took losing you for me to understand some of it.

I said I would fight for you one day. I will. But not with my hands. I will fight by remembering you, by telling the truth as I know it, and by refusing to let your story disappear.

And then I will leave the rest to God.

He knows what happened. He knows what was said. He knows what people carried in their hearts.

My mother’s story deserves to be told.

My parents’ legacy deserves to be honoured.

And justice does not have to be mine to carry alone.

Death is inevitable. It comes for every one of us, regardless of who we are, what we have, or how we choose to treat others. In the end, none of us gets to escape it.

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This article is a personal account of grief, family, loss, and remembrance. It reflects my own experiences and perspective and is not a substitute for professional grief counselling, therapy, or mental health support.