N8tivegirl

Living dead

By~ Valrelyn Parson

 Author’s Note 

I wrote this piece seven years ago, not knowing that one day my sister-in-law’s mother would pass from the very illness I described. Reading it now feels like both a foreshadowing and a comfort — a reminder that even in the slow fading of memory, love remains. I share this to honor every family walking through “the long goodbye,” and to testify that even when minds forget, God’s presence never does.

It’s a Long Goodbye

Poem by Unknown

She’s leaving me, little by little, I wish she wouldn’t go.

I will be there as long as she needs me. How do I let her know?

I’d like to hold on to the memories, I’d also like to share.

But she’s further away, getting further away. And yet, she’s always there.

The Silence Within

No one knows what it’s like to be trapped — to be alive, yet dead. When the things you once remembered are lost forever, the quietness smothers you. It’s like being buried alive, yet all my faculties remain.

I can see. I can move. But I am lost. The faces, the names, the people — they fade away. When your body and mind betray you, when you no longer have dominion over them, you want to scream, “Save me! Don’t you see me?” But no one can hear, because your voice is still. Friends and family surround you, speaking softly — as if you’re a child or invalid.  But I am still awake. I am still me. Can’t you see the pain in my eyes?

Each time you talk to me, I try so hard to remember you — to hold on to what we once shared.

Faith in the Fog

I was frightened when I received the diagnosis. I questioned the Lord — dare I ask why?

The thought of losing everyone before my eyes was unbearable. But He reminded me:

You will never walk alone.

Perhaps this is not a death sentence, but the beginning of something new. We walk between life and death — one visible, one unseen — and God walks with us through both.  Maybe this isn’t the end, but the preparation. We all must one day prepare to die, just as we once prepared to be born.

The Mirror Fades

You look at me as if I’m no longer Momma — and that hurts more than words can tell. I fight so hard to stay present, to keep command of my mind. I’ve always loved my independence. But slowly, things begin to fade. I am entrapped in a body that has forsaken me.

It has become my enemy, my adversary. I look in the mirror and remember when I was young and vibrant — the apple of your father’s eye. I remember the joy the day you were born, how full my heart was then. Now, the memories flicker like candlelight in the wind.

I am here. Even if I no longer remember your name, I am still your mother.

The Long Goodbye

There are moments when she almost seems like herself — sometimes just a flicker, a breath of the woman we once knew. I hear you, child.  I know the struggle of watching me fade before your eyes. Each day you lose a piece of me, and each day I lose a piece of myself.

I stand before you physically, but mentally I am slipping away. The day I depart will bring both sorrow and relief — sorrow for your loss, relief for my release. For me, death will not be defeat. It will be freedom. Freedom from a body that deceived me. Freedom from confusion and pain.

When the doctor told me the truth, I decided to live each moment as if it were my last —to make every memory count.  My greatest fear was forgetting you — and you forgetting that I loved you.  This was never God’s fault. And most of all, I needed you to know that I loved you deeply — even when I could no longer remember who you were. Because mental death comes long before physical death.

The Bridesmaid’s Lesson

You, my child, have become the bridesmaid — helping the bride prepare for her Groom. No one knows the day or hour the Groom will appear. So we must always be ready, our lamps filled with oil.  When your Groom comes and you walk into the bridal chamber, I will stand outside, knowing my time has not yet come.

I will weep at the door, but I will rejoice too — for the wedding has been consummated, and the bride is with her Groom. Preparing for death is much like preparing for a wedding. The Last Supper taught us that truth.

So here I sit in my bridesmaid’s dress, the wedding ended, the bride gone away. All that remains is this earthly tent — this fragile body — and the celebration that follows, the funeral.

It’s a long goodbye, and still I don’t know what to say. There’s so much time between now and then, because she goes away — a long goodbye. How do all the others do it? How do we get through it?

— “It’s a Long Goodbye,” by Unknown (A Place for Mom)

A Daughter’s Reflection

Now I look back and reflect on my mother’s time here on earth. The emotions are layered — grief, gratitude, and questions for God. Why her?

And He answered softly: Why not you? Why not test your faith? Why not see if you will still love Me in the storm?

When Mom was first diagnosed, her prayer wasn’t for herself — it was for me. She prayed that God would give me strength to endure the race ahead, that my faith would not falter, and that I would always remember Who was in control, and Whose I was.

This journey tested my faith in ways I never imagined. I was angry — at God, at my siblings, at the unfairness of it all. But even when I felt abandoned, He stood beside me. He walked me through every tear, every night I thought I couldn’t do it anymore.

Two Little Girls

Each day I cried as I watched my mother fade. She was my safety net, my sail in every storm.

The woman who once held our family together after Papa died now couldn’t even remember my name.

She called for her own mother, and I found myself doing the same. Two little girls — one at the beginning of her journey home, the other learning how to let go. Both longing for their mommas.

Love Transformed

Now, I understand that love doesn’t end — it transforms. My mother may have forgotten my name, but her soul remembered my touch. And though her long goodbye ended here on earth, her true life — the one with her Groom — has only just begun. “Death is not the end; it’s the doorway through which love finally becomes eternal.”

Written with love and memory for my sister in love, and for all who have walked the long goodbye.

 

Author’s Reflection

When I first wrote Living Dead: A Daughter’s Long Goodbye seven years ago, I had no idea how much it would come to mirror real life. At the time, it was simply a reflection — words that poured out of a heart trying to make sense of loss, faith, and the quiet fading of memory. I never imagined that my sister-in-law’s mother would later walk this same road, or that the piece would feel like both a prophecy and a comfort.

Now, as I read it again, I realize that God often prepares us for seasons long before we understand why. The journey of watching someone you love slowly slip away tests your faith in ways that shake your soul. Yet, through every tear and every moment of uncertainty, His presence remains steady.

This piece is shared in loving memory of Dr. Joyce Essien, whose life, faith, and quiet strength continue to inspire all who knew her.

She taught me that love is stronger than memory — that even when the mind forgets, the soul still remembers.

To every son, daughter, and caregiver walking through that quiet kind of grief — the long goodbye — may you find comfort in knowing that God never leaves us, even in the letting go.

“Even when memory fades, love remains — and God remembers us perfectly

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