People tell me, “Estelle, you were already an adult when she left. You had grown, so healing should come easier. You must learn to forget.”
All I can do is smile at the emptiness of those words as if love has an expiration date, as if the absence of a mother, especially a Queen like mine, could ever be quantified by the years I spent by her side. The truth is, no matter how old we are, we remain children at heart when we reach for our mother’s hand.
My mother was more than just the woman who carried me; she was my sanctuary. She held my secrets in a vault of grace, a safe haven where I never feared judgment or rejection. There are not enough women like her in this world those who serve as your best friend, your anchor, and your mirror all at once.
The Marathon of the Soul
In May 2016, we began a marathon. It wasn’t a race for a medal, but a relentless, heart-wrenching struggle for life. For four years, we ran hand-in-hand against the shadows. By 2025, the physical race came to its conclusion. We may have lost the battle against time, but we never lost the bond that kept us running.
Now, there are days when the silence in my home feels heavy almost deafening. I am moving forward. I am finding success. I am building the life we once dreamed about. Yet, I find myself scanning the room, wondering: What is this happiness worth without her here to share it? I gaze at the stars and ask: Who will "spend my joy" with such infectious laughter now? Who will share that pure light with me?
I miss her beautiful voice, her keen advice, her laughter, and even our lively discussions those spirited debates that I would give anything to hear just once more.
Writing as a Sacred Bridge
In the hollow space of her absence, I discovered a refuge: my pen. Between these lines, the veil grows thin. When I write, I am not merely creating, I am conversing with her. I see her face in the ink. I feel her presence in the rhythm of my heart. She whispers to me, giving me the strength to fulfill the promises I made when she was still with me.
My projects, my identity, and this very blog all began with that quiet whisper in my ear: “Couronnee De Gloire.” It is more than a title; it is a divine promise that even amidst the dust of grief, there is a crown waiting for us.
A Word for the Broken and the Brave
If you find yourself walking through a dark tunnel today, if your heart feels like it has shattered into a thousand pieces, remember this: your pain is only as deep as your love was. Do not allow the world to tell you to "forget." Instead, transform that absence into a source of creativity.
Wear your crown, even when it feels heavy. It was forged in the fire of your perseverance and polished by your tears. You are not merely surviving; you are being prepared for a glorious purpose yet unseen.
2 Timothy 4:7-8: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness.”
Odile wore her crown with a grace that the world could not diminish, shining brightly in its magnificence. She completed her course and left the gates open wide for me to follow. I am no longer just a grieving daughter; I am a woman on a mission. I will carry her name proudly, fulfill her shining legacy, and breathe every moment as a determined woman of Couronnee De Gloire, honoring her spirit with every step I take.
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