There are simply no words to capture what you meant to me or convey the full weight of my grief over your passing. I know many men have wonderful wives, but no one has ever had a better one than I. For Yaa Baby, you were simply amazing – beautiful, witty, highly intelligent, quirky, stubborn, and always immense fun to be with. I am grateful for every minute we had together. We shared a friendship, a bond that no one else can understand, and together we tore down barriers of creed, tribe, and culture that threatened to keep us apart and at once turned all of it into love and laughter and oneness. You always said family mattered most, and you embraced mine so intimately that you easily passed for a daughter to my mom and a big sister to my siblings. You were humble, faithful, efficient, and true, and in your unassuming way, made everything around you beautiful. As cliché as it may sound, Yaa, you were my everything. My happiest years were those spent with you. You gave me the experience of being clearly understood, truly supported, and completely and utterly loved. You inspired me in ways I cannot explain. You were my number one fan, blowing my trumpet the loudest. When I was worried, you said it would be ok. When I wasn’t sure what to do, you figured it out. When things were difficult, you were a pillar. And even there on your sick bed, when I neared my wits’ end, you would hold my hand and reassure me that everything would be okay. I shall never forget the dance, the laughter, the promises, and the plans. I miss your presence, your companionship. You see, love is at once this cruel and uplifting. We are dead without it, and yet made so much more vulnerable to pain for experiencing it. However, if the day I walked down that aisle with you someone had told me that this would happen, I would still have walked down that aisle. For the beautiful flowers you have planted in my memory will be treasured for the rest of my lifetime. Alas, my love could not save you. We fought long and hard, though. You did not want to die. I did not want to let go either. We were confident this would end in praise. In my spare hours, I planned the thanksgiving service that would follow your recovery in my head. It was also going to be your 60th birthday. But the creator thought your work here was done and decided to call you to Himself, to swell the number of the Saints triumphant. I am consoled, however, by the fact that we’ve buried only your body. Your spirit, your beautiful soul, your uncommon ability to calm the storm, is still with us. You live on in the stories those who knew you are sharing of how you touched their lives, in the memories of our families who you touched most closely, in the love that is so visible in the eyes of our children. Things will never be the same for us, but we all have been made better because you were in our lives. Thewords of Alan D. Wolfelt in TheWilderness of Grief aptly capture my feelings on this day. “My grief journey has no destination. I will not ‘get over it.’ The understanding that I don’t have to be done is liberating. I will mourn this death for the rest of my life.” But I will not stay drained by grief. I assure you that I will be strong for the kids, and that together, we shall make you proud. With all my heart, my love! COP Nana Asomah-Hinneh (RTD) H U S B A N D g Tribute Eternally Cherished 26 Hon. Dcns. Mrs. Eunice Jacqueline Buah Asomah-Hinneh
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