By Melville Robertson Esq
Some people come into your life not through blood, but through something deeper—through love, through presence, through shared moments that slowly bloom into a bond that feels like family. That was her. What began as a formal “Aunty Justicia” gradually transformed into the warm and affectionate “Sisi”—a name I first heard from Septina and one that, over time, came to feel natural on my lips, too. Because that’s what she became to me: not just Septina and Victoria’s grandmother, but my Sisi too.
In the beginning, Sisi was strict. Very strict. Whenever I came over to the house, there was always a question waiting for me before any small talk: “Did you do your chores at home?” “Have you helped your mother today?” I’d be caught off guard sometimes, wondering why I was being questioned so seriously. But now, I see it so clearly—Sisi wasn’t just guarding her home, she was helping shape the character of the young people around her. She was reminding me, in her firm way, that responsibility, respect, and discipline mattered.
But as time passed, the sharpness softened. Her words became less guarded, her smiles came easier. She began to see me not just as a visitor in her home, but as someone she could pour into, guide, and love. And I’ll never forget the way she started to dote on me—how proud she would be when I read a lesson in church, how she would tell me with bright eyes that I read so well. And when she saw my name in the newspaper, attached to an article I had written, she beamed with pride, telling everyone how proud she was of me—as if I were one of her own.
Our bond deepened even more at Wesley Church, especially during the women’s auxiliary functions. I was always there—either dropping off Mrs. Gloria Decker or lending a hand to the women’s group—and somehow, I always found myself gravitating to Sisi. In between tasks, we would talk. Talk. She would share stories of her younger days, her time singing in the choir, and her beautiful voice that once lifted congregations in worship. Her eyes lit up with every memory, and I listened, soaking up her stories like treasured wisdom.
What I cherish the most is that it didn’t feel like an obligation or even tradition—it just felt right. Being by her side, hearing her stories, seeing her pride in me… it all felt so natural. It was love, pure and simple.
Sisi wasn’t just a grandmother to her own. She was a grandmother in every way that mattered. To me, she was a strong, warm, graceful presence—a woman who started with stern questions and ended up giving me the gift of her love, her history, and her pride.
I will miss her deeply. But I will also carry her with me—her words, her voice, her hugs, and that beautiful sense of belonging she gave me. Thank you, Sisi, for letting me in. For letting me love you, and for loving me right back.
You praised your maker whilst you had breath, and now that your voice is lost in death, praise shall employ your nobler powers; Your days of praise shall never pass or end again till all immortality endures.
Rest well, Sisi. You were, and always will be, family to me.
MRR.
