***

It’s hard to believe it’s been twenty years since you left us. The world simply hasn’t been the same without your presence — your beauty, your love, your light.

It still feels like yesterday,
when life was whole — a joyful family of eight, wrapped in your love and safety.

The pain of your absence never fades.
Not a day goes by without thoughts of you.
Though you’re no longer with us in body,
your memory lives — richly, eternally — in our hearts.

I believe God loved you so deeply that He called all four of you to His side.
But if I could ask Him for just one impossible gift,
it would be this:

To give me wings.
To soar to where you are.
To hold you tight,
to say “I love you,”
and never let go.

Until that eternal day, I remain under the shelter of God’s wings.
One day, death will lose its power, our tears will be wiped away,
and our hearts will be whole again — forever.

***

My dearest little sister, Marie Claudine “Magnifique” — you were an angel in life, and you left this world like one

It still breaks my heart to know you were among the very first taken
in our village when the Genocide against the Tutsi began that Thursday morning.
What could you have possibly done to deserve such cruelty?

I’m grateful I had the chance to say goodbye —
to see you one last time, your arms folded as if in prayer,
even as blood marked the violence that silenced you.
The image haunts me,
but I cling to the truth that God loved you far more than I ever could.

You left this world like an angel,
and I imagine heaven welcomed you with open arms that very morning —
Thursday, April 7th.
I marvel at the celebration held in your honor,
and I smile through tears knowing you were cherished.

One day, you’ll tell me all about it.
And when my time here is complete —
the very life that was spared this same month, twenty years ago —
I’ll catch you up on everything you’ve missed.

Until then,
I’ll carry your memory and love with me… always.
I will love you — forever.

***

Papa, you left too soon, but the confidence you placed in me as a little girl still carries me forward.

I vividly remember the day you surrendered your final breath — Sunday afternoon, April 17th.
That was the day we overheard the Hutu Interahamwe boasting that they had cut you into three pieces, and that they were hunting for us — Mom and the five children — to finish us all.

How could anyone on this earth harm you?

You may have been tortured in the flesh, but I know your sweet soul is safe with the God you taught us to pray to.
Do you remember how your face lit up whenever I did well in school?
I know you would have been proud to see me finish all the way to graduate school, land my dream job, and build a life in a faraway country that has become my new home.
Can you believe you weren’t here to celebrate with me?

I miss you every day.
But Jesus — my Savior and King — stands in your place and Mom’s.
He comforts me when I am afraid, He cheers when I succeed, and He still loves me when I fail.

Late 1994, I had a dream where I promised you:
That I would love your surviving children as you would have, had you lived.
I am humbled to say that I have kept that promise.
Whatever I have, I have shared with them.
And as long as I have breath, they will never lack for anything.

When Jesus returns in glory, and all the nations stand before Him, I will not be ashamed.
The Holy Spirit Himself is my witness.
And I know you, Mama, Marie Claudine, and Jean Felix will be among the great cloud of witnesses there.

There is so much I want to tell you — but for now, I trust God to fill you in.

I miss you, Papa.
But I am strong because of the foundation you laid, and the God you taught me to worship.
P.S. — Thank you and Mama for giving me the name Alphonsine — “warrior.”
You named me well. You prepared me for the battles ahead.

Rest in heavenly peace, Papa.
I will love you eternally.

***

Dear Mama, when I think back to our final moments together, I’m reminded of how you always stood for the truth — even when it cost you everything.

As we waited by the mass grave for our death sentence that Sunday afternoon, April 24th, I remember how the blood-shedders asked if you had more children elsewhere, so they could hunt them down too.
You didn’t lie. You stood in truth — ready to walk into God’s heaven.

I remember pleading with the killers — begging them not to harm you before I came back, when they assigned a soldier to escort me — not to protect me, but to make sure I wouldn’t escape — as I went to bring Eric, Alice, and Noella.
Those desperate words were my final conversation with you.
And yet, by a miracle I can never explain, all three of them — and I — survived.

Today, I am their mother.
I love them more than anything in this life, and I do everything I think you and Papa would have done for us.
They — and God — are my witnesses.

Oh, how I wish you could see them now!
They’re all grown, beautiful, and extraordinary.
Eric and Alice will finish their Master’s degrees this year, and Noella, your last born, is completing college.
They are the greatest gifts I have ever received.

And there’s more:
Eric is marrying the love of his life later this year — a woman so incredible you would have adored her too.
God and I will take care of every detail in their wedding.
It breaks my heart that you and Papa won’t be there to see it.

Noella barely remembers your faces, but that’s okay. She has me now.
And as long as I live, she will be cherished, spoiled, and protected — this I promise you and Papa forever.

Mama, did God tell you that He blessed me with another mother here on earth?
She may not look like you, but she loves and nurtures me just as you did — almost as if you had sent her yourself.

I have so many amazing friends now, in a land far from our homeland.
They make me feel loved, and special.
I know you would be so proud.

Even though I only had you for a few short years, your love was pure, fierce, and unforgettable.
I still hear your voice when I am sick, feel your comfort when I am overwhelmed, and remember how you spoiled me with a love that asked for nothing in return.

There’s so much more I want to tell you — but I will save it for when we meet again in heaven.

I will love you forever, Mama.
Always.

***

My dear big brother Jean Felix, I’ll never forget how you stood as my protector at school — tall and strong, making sure no one dared come near

I’m so sorry that my last memory of you is one of suffering.
I wish I had been stronger — strong enough to stop the Hutu Interahamwe who beat you with sharp wires, while blood poured down your beautiful face.
That moment is burned into my heart.

Whenever I watch The Passion of the Christ, I’m reminded of you.
Just like Jesus, you were brutally beaten though you had done nothing wrong. And when I see His face — broken, bleeding, innocent — I see yours.

But I know, with absolute certainty, that on Sunday afternoon, April 24th, Jesus welcomed you and Mama into His beautiful heaven.
You belonged there far more than in this world of pain and injustice.

Those memories are hard to carry, but they also give me courage.
Knowing you’re no longer suffering brings me comfort and strength to keep going.

I know well that I will see you again — with Mama, Papa, and Magnifique — when I finish the work you all began, and fulfill the mission God entrusted to me.
That’s why He didn’t take me with you that day, okay? He had more for me to do.

Rest in God’s eternal peace.
I miss you every single day.
I will love you, all my days.

***

Eric, Alice, Alphonsine, Mireille Noella. 03/10/2014

Dear Loved Ones,

Eric, Alice, Noella, and I — twenty years later — still carry your memory as vividly as ever. Your love continues to water our spirits daily, etched into the pillars of our hearts. You are our heroes, and we hold fast to your words, your example, and your pride.

As we mark this twentieth commemoration of your lives taken too soon, we choose again to forgive those who killed you simply for how you looked, something you never bargained for at birth.

We pray your killers find God and repent, but if not, they will stand before the Redeemer and the Defender of the Fatherless. Justice is His alone. He will repay.

Your legacy lives on in us. We are stronger because of you, and everything we do is to make you proud.
We miss you deeply, but we know that you now dwell in the place where souls like yours belong — in peace, in glory, in heaven.

We will finish what you began.
You are alive in our hearts for as long as we live.
We will love you — forever and always.