This Holy Week, I realised something I could not even name for most of the while.
The season started on a mighty guilty note as I fully intended to follow through Lent. Even more so than before. For Ryan and his soul.
Before you know it, I absentmindedly ate the non-vegetarian meal served on the flight from Boston to Dubai. It didn’t strike me then.
It was only hours later (perhaps even a day) that it hit me:
I broke my Lenten vow.
Even worse, on the very second day.
I felt terrible.
I knew I had to be kinder to myself…give myself more grace. I hadn’t been myself for a month since that fateful call about Ryan’s hospital admission.
I just didn’t have it in me to continue through Lent this year.
I was exhausted.
Physically.
Mentally.
Emotionally.
And spiritually.
It was just too steep a mountain to climb at this point.
I pleaded and promised God I would make up for this lapse next year.
And I wondered if this made me any less—
a good wife,
a good woman.
What I Saw in Him—and Didn’t See in Myself
I recalled our recent times together. I was privy to how spiritually stronger Ryan was quietly becoming over the years. Especially in the last years and months, I knew him closely. He was becoming even simpler, non-materialistic, non-attention seeking…more elegant, and elevated than he always was.
Just a deeply good human being, even when he could easily choose to be otherwise.
I learn so much from him, even while recollecting our times together.
While we shared similar values, I knew I fell short of many of his good traits.
I had known it then, but after Ryan’s death, it hit the hardest.
I looked inward more honestly than I ever had.
Beyond the person the world thought I was,
to all that lay beneath—
unseen, but always there,
like visceral fat in an outwardly thin body.
When My Reasons Weren’t Pure
I am not a ritualistic person, religion or otherwise. However, I was always out-of-character during Lent.
I admit sheepishly it wasn’t for the grander otherworldly pursuits but for something far more ordinary:
The idea of losing a little weight.
While I told myself and showed the world it was about growing closer to God, I knew all along it had less to do with faith and more to do with vanity.
I remember being thrilled at losing 3-4 kgs during the 40 days of Lent last year. Looking back now, I see how wrong and silly my approach really was.
What was I even thinking?
And who did I think I was fooling?
How can I truly surrender like Christ on the cross when I’m still holding on to myself?
Ryan’s approach to Lent was always pure. It was never about what he could gain, but always what he could give up—in habit and in heart. He carried discomfort lightly.
Lent didn’t transform him.
It merely gave him a reason and season to live out what he already believed year-round.
When Lent Came to Me
Lent was just days after Ryan passed away. I didn’t abstain from anything by Lenten norms. But I abstained from what mattered the most…naturally.
Like trees in autumn, I shed all negative thoughts towards others and myself. Like bare trees during winter, I was bereft of pride, greed, envy, and vanity.
There’s still a lot of work to be done within me.
Something shifted in me ever since I got the call that Ryan was in the hospital. Suddenly, all worldly pursuits seemed meaningless and vain.
I now see life differently—
as something that asks more of us to:
Look within.
Recognise and act upon what needs work.
Keep returning to it, again and again.
Now, I find myself checking-in instinctively:
Is this coming from a place of ego or love? Vanity or service?
I make it a point to unfriend and, if necessary, block every negative thought and harmful action.
It took death for me to realise nothing else matters beyond love. What helps me stay grounded in that truth is the daily reading of the Word.
(I think) I finally understood Lent. It came to me this year when I needed it the most.
And for that grace, I am forever grateful.
This post is a part of Blogchatter A2Z Challenge 2026.
