We lost Chi-baby, as we all loved to call her. Cancer took her from us at just 47 years.

And today, we gather to celebrate her life and mourn her absence. It’s never easy to say goodbye, especially when someone leaves so young.

The last time we, her closest friends, gathered at her house, we put up a prayer card for Vicky’s 50th birthday, coming up in six months.

Our Chi-baby had a wall of prayer cards. One for almost everyone around her, one for everyone she loved.

If you’ve never seen it, the wall is something special. Since moving into her new home over a decade ago, Chi-baby filled that space with prayers for others. It’s funny we still call her home new because Chi really took her time to furnish and decorate. I mean, just four months ago, she finally found the perfect artwork for her staircase—a long, colorful textile and papier-mâché piece that stretched almost floor to ceiling. She snapped a photo and sent it to our group chat, exclaiming about how it reminded her of our high school art projects.

We should have visited sooner than a whole month to see it in person. She was so excited.

Three days ago, when we revisited the house, we looked at the wall. She prayed for my visa interview, for Mama’s hip surgery, for Angela’s headache, of course Vicky’s birthday plans, Gabriel’s job interview, Fola’s vacation. There was even a card for my son’s imaginary dog, who had a “broken leg.” But nothing for herself.

Not one card for healing. Not one card on that wall was about her. Not one for her cancer. Not one for her treatment. Not one for her pain.

The thing about those cards was that they always seemed to work. Fola made it back safely from vacation. Mama got her new hip. Even the dog is ‘fine’ now.

But why isn’t Chi-baby here with us today?

Why are we standing here, throwing dirt into a six-foot-deep hole?

Was it because my ever-faithful friend didn’t believe enough for herself? Or did she believe more in the prayers of others for her? Maybe she believed we’d do it for her. We all noticed she looked different, but we didn’t ask. We thought she was invincible.

Did any of us think to put up a prayer card for the friend who always prayed for us? Did we write one when she traveled, even to another city, let alone another country? I know I wished her safe trips, but I never even kept track of the exact date she returned.

But Chi-baby lived for those torn prayer cards. She looked forward to visits and phone calls, eager to hear which prayers had been answered so she could tear down another card.

This isn’t a scolding, but I feel it in my heart that we could have done better. Better still, I could have done better.

I could have done better.

I could have visited more, knowing she had no husband or children to keep her company. I could have said yes more when she asked to go out or do something small. I could have matched her love efforts better while she was still here with us.

I know my friend lived fully, even in that hospital room. She never once believed she was alone. I know she’s still with us but in a different way now, but I hope we take something from her life and show up for the people we cherish, to say yes more often, and to love more intentionally, with actions.

To love with actions.

To my dear Chi-baby, thank you for everything. Keep smiling. We’re smiling back at you.

With love,
Ihunanya.