Joy

…This story was born out of grief

The recent loss of one of my closest friends tore something open inside me. It taught me brutally how fleeting life truly is. I have known pain before but not this kind.

This kind of pain settles in the chest and refuses to leave. The kind that reminds you every single day that you will never see that person again, never hear their voice, never argue, laugh or reconcile again.

I am learning, painfully, what it means to lose someone you love. They say time heals all wounds and for now, I am holding tightly to that hope.

This is Joy’s story. Her name was a cruel contradiction.

From the very beginning, life demanded more from Joy than it ever gave back. She grew up in an orphanage, learning early how to survive without asking for too much. When she was adopted as a teenager by a warm, childless couple, she finally tasted something unfamiliar—a sense of belonging. They loved her fiercely, called her their daughter and for the first time, Joy allowed herself to believe that maybe life was finally smiling at her. But joy, it seemed, was never meant to linger.

The couple died in a car accident barely two years later. The house that once echoed with laughter became unbearably silent. When relatives were contacted, no one wanted her. Joy was not blood. She was not their responsibility. So she turned to her church for help. It was either that or the streets.

Her life became a community project. School fees arrived late. Meals were shared, sometimes skipped. There were many children and not enough resources, so needs were often unmet. Joy learned patience. She learned gratitude for crumbs and resilience in scarcity.

Then, unexpectedly, grace knocked.

Months earlier, she had applied for a scholarship from a telecommunication firm and forgotten about it. The phone call inviting her for an interview felt unreal. The acceptance letter was nothing short of a miracle. That scholarship changed everything.

To survive, she also worked as a server in a small restaurant. The pay was poor but the meals she was allowed to eat once or twice a day sustained her. Those meals meant survival. Those meals meant she could keep going.

Joy excelled. She graduated as the best student in her set, her brilliance was undeniable. After her youth service, the same firm employed her. For the first time in her life, the ground beneath her feet felt steady. She shared an apartment with colleagues. She bought a small car. Life was good… or so she thought.

Things were about to change. The economic downturn forced the company to leave Nigeria. Jobs were lost. Dreams collapsed. Joy became unemployed. Her impressive résumé offered no rescue. Two years passed. She sold her car. She downsized her life, moved into a smaller apartment and learned once again how to start over.

When the next job came, it felt like recompense for years of suffering. It was fulfilling. It paid well. It restored her dignity.

And then she met Dennis. He loved her deeply and became her safe place. Their son, Greg, was born into a home filled with laughter, warmth, and peace. Dennis was an exceptional husband, a devoted father, and the kind of man people admired effortlessly.

At work, he was known as “Mr Efficient.” Always early. Always dependable. So when he didn’t show up for the early morning session on the second day of his company retreat, concern spread quickly. Knocks on his door went unanswered. The door was broken. Dennis was found lifeless. Beside him lay a suicide note. The shock shattered everyone but it destroyed Joy. Dennis, the life of the party, the man who danced freely, who made people laugh, who seemed whole had been fighting battles no one saw. The note was long and heartbreaking. It spoke of depression, exhaustion and despair he had worn quietly for years. Joy had never known. She had no idea. No clue.

Grief became her constant companion but she refused to let tragedy define her. She was determined not to become a casualty of her misfortunes. So she poured herself into work. She chose survival not because it was easy but because she had no other choice.

Then came Reggie. Reggie was kind, handsome, hardworking and gentle. He cared deeply for Joy though he hid his feelings behind fear and uncertainty. Everyone noticed. Everyone saw it. But Reggie hesitated. Joy once asked him why he had never married. He wondered if that was a problem for her. He liked her too much, and the fear of rejection held him back.

One afternoon, Joy took Greg to the hospital and realized she had forgotten his medication at the pharmacy. She left Greg briefly in her office while she rushed out. Reggie had volunteered to go for her or send someone but she had to do a quick stop somewhere else, so she left.

Reggie checked on Greg and the conversation they had, changed everything. Greg spoke freely about how his mother mentioned Reggie often and how he believed she liked him. Reggie was stunned. Hope bloomed quietly. The little boy had stirred courage in him and had given his silent approval. When Joy returned, he would finally speak. He would tell her how much he loved her. How he wanted to be part of her life and Greg’s. But Joy never returned.

A drunk teenager rammed into her car. The impact sent her into shock. Days later, she suffered a cardiac arrest. Then she slipped into a coma and never woke up. Just like that, Joy was gone. And Greg became an orphan.

Reggie stood at her graveside, shattered by grief and regret. He never told her how he felt. He never got the chance.

In the end, Reggie became Greg’s chosen family, not by intention but by circumstance.

Some lives are not long, but they are meaningful. Joy’s life was light. And even after she was gone, that light refused to go out.

This story is lovingly dedicated to my dear friend, Mary Aworetan. You left far too soon and your absence still echoes in ways words cannot fully capture. Though I may never hear your voice again or see your smile, your impact remains alive in my heart.

You are missed more than words allow and remembered in every quiet moment. Sleep well, my friend. You are deeply loved. You are forever remembered. You will be sorely missed.🤍

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