Thursday the first of July started like any other ordinary day. I was planning my radio program that was already very close to the deadline. I was cooking that long-anticipated beef stew and enjoying the smells wafting from my kitchen. The day felt good. And then I went on Facebook. Not even halfway through to check up on the status of friends, the status on Nikki Coward's page stopped me in my tracks and ripped through my heart. Celeste Phillips has died. For a long moment, I stopped breathing as I tried to absorb this heartbreaking news.
Have you ever experienced one of those moments where you can't think and your mind is left completely blank because what you're reading is so incomprehensible?
Celeste has died. I can not accept that she's gone. Celeste was too full of life and love. It feels impossible that someone who gave so much and loved so hard could just be gone. It doesn't feel right that I'm talking about her in the past tense. Nothing about this feels right at all.
She was supposed to live long and grow old and share her love for her husband, her children and her family with more amazing Facebook posts about the Q-files and the D-files. She was supposed to see them grow up and become amazing children because of the way she loved them.
That's one of the things I will always remember about Celeste, her love for her family. And I remember her warmth, her caring, her laughter. I remember her beautiful soul. She was just one of those people who made you feel better because you knew somewhere in the world, Celeste is alive. And now she is no more, and the world feels out of balance.
Celeste had the ability to make you feel as if you've known her for years after just one encounter. A few years ago I was living in Cape Town and I was utterly miserable being there. I called Celeste, not expecting her to answer her phone for someone she only knows from Facebook. But she did. And that call changed my day completely. She understood my feelings completely and assured me that things will get better. And I believed her. She understood what I was feeling and she gave me a sense of hope and optimism, and encourage me to keep on fighting until things get better. We promised to meet up when we're both back in Gauteng again. We stayed in touch on and off but we never had that coffee. And we lost touch. But like I said, you only had to talk to Celeste once and you'd feel as if you've known her since forever.
Celeste was real and she was honest. She could calm you down with her laughter and her voice. It was like she just knew what to say to make you look at life differently. You couldn't stay depressed or irritable around her. Her presence simply wouldn't let you.
Celeste, this is devastating. You left us and it hurts really really bad. You were just one of those people I thought was going to live forever. You are gone way too soon. The world is not okay without you. Somewhere in our hearts and in this world, there's a big empty space that you were supposed to fill.
I'm sitting here, feeling this heavy lumpy ache in my heart, and my heart just breaks for your children, your husband, your family. It aches for the loss those who knew you better than me will feel. My heart aches because your laughter and your voice will forever be silent. It aches for the devastation and the ruthlessness of death, and how it ripped you from us when we didn't expect it. I want to cry an ocean of tears for the unfairness of it all. But death has never been fair.
Rest in Peace, Celeste Phillips, who really made the world a better place. Rest softly. Your presence was truly a gift to this world. It's just so hard to say goodbye and to let you go. I will remember you. Always.
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