“The sorrow we feel when we lose a loved one is the price we pay to have had them in our lives.”
– Rob Liano, sales strategist, speaker and author
ANN, if tears could build a stairway, and memories a lane, Kiki, Ravin and I would walk right up to heaven and bring you home again.
Two years have passed since that painful afternoon of November 2, 2023, when our beloved Anneta Joseph, whom I affectionately called Ann, left this world. Yet not a day has gone by without her presence felt within the quiet corners of our home, and in the depths of our hearts.
Yesterday, my two children, Kiki and Ravin, and I hosted the second anniversary prayers in her memory. Close relatives, dear friends, and three of her former Telekom Malaysia colleagues joined us. The prayers were solemn yet comforting; the air was filled with both sorrow and gratitude. Gratitude for having shared our lives with a woman whose warmth, humility and kindness had left an imprint too deep to fade.
Even after two years, the pain remains raw. The empty chair at the dining table, the silence in the living room and the dimly lit evenings when the children return home from work, all remind us of Ann’s absence. Only Max, our ever-faithful dog, greets the children now. That emptiness is something no amount of time seems able to erase.
Ann’s passing was sudden. Though she had been admitted to the Sarawak General Hospital for treatment, we were optimistic she was recovering. Then, unexpectedly, complications set in. Within hours, we were told her condition had deteriorated and before we could even understand the words, she was gone.
At that moment, it felt as though the skies had fallen on us. Kiki and Ravin were in disbelief; they thought it was just a terrible dream that would soon be over. I myself was numb.The woman who had been my partner in life, my confidante and the pillar of our family, was suddenly no more.
Ann was so focused on caring for others that she neglected her own health. The doctors initially struggled to determine the cause of her illness. By the time it was diagnosed it was too late. The infection had led to blood poisoning and eventually, organ failure.
Her passing was a cruel blow not only to us but to everyone who knew her.
What struck me most was how someone so good, so full of life, could be taken away so soon. Ann was the kind of person who heard no evil, saw no evil, and spoke no evil. One of her guiding principles was: “If you have nothing good to say about someone, please shut up. We have no right to talk ill of others. We are no angels.”
Another of her firm beliefs was about keeping one’s word. “When you make a promise,” she would say, “fulfil it at all costs.” That simple principle became a lesson for life, one I found myself having to live by in the most difficult of moments.
The day after she passed, on November 3, I was scheduled to deliver a speech at the International Business Review (IBR) Borneo Awards at a leading hotel in Kuching. It was a commitment I had given long before, and even though Ann’s wake was still ongoing, I went; because that was what Ann would have wanted. A promise made must be a promise kept. Her funeral service took place the next day, on November 4, at St Joseph’s Cathedral.
What deeply touched me and my children that evening of November 3, as the wake continued at our home, was an unexpected gesture, one that spoke volumes of humanity and leadership.
Despite his demanding schedule, Premier Datuk Patinggi Tan Sri Abang Johari Tun Openg took time to visit our residence to pay his last respects to Ann.
It was a quiet, solemn moment. The Premier’s presence, his words of comfort, and his genuine empathy moved us beyond words. It reminded me that true leadership is not only about governance or vision, but about compassion; the ability to reach out and stand beside those in grief. For that, my family and I remain deeply grateful.
In that visit which lasted about 30 minutes, the Premier showed what many Sarawakians already know: that he is not only a visionary leader but a man with a heart, one who embodies the spirit of togetherness that he so often speaks of.
Ann was more than just a loving wife and mother. She was a source of light to all who crossed her path. Her empathy knew no boundaries. I remember vividly an incident years ago. She received news past midnight that a friend’s mother had passed away.
Without hesitation, she drove nearly 23 kilometres through heavy rain to console her grieving friend. She stayed the night and returned home only the next morning around 10:00 am, later applying for two days’ leave just to help the bereaved family.
That was Ann; selfless, compassionate and always ready to put others before herself. To her, family came first. She was meticulous about everything, the children’s school routines, family meals, household matters. Even when she was working full-time as an executive at Telekom Malaysia, she ensured our home ran like clockwork.
I once suggested hiring a maid to help with the chores. She refused. “Maids don’t take care of the house the way I would,” she said firmly. That was Ann. Yes, precise, perfectionist and deeply devoted!
Eventually, she opted for early retirement, choosing family over career. It was a decision driven not by convenience but by love. She wanted to be fully present in the lives of Kiki and Ravin to guide, nurture and watch them grow.
Her dedication extended even to her hobbies. Ann loved gardening. Our home used to be a small haven of colour with many pots of flowers and vegetables everywhere. She had green fingers and an even greener heart. Now, the plants have mostly withered away, unable to thrive without her tender touch. The children often remark that even the garden seems to mourn her absence. Sometimes, I would stare blankly at the spots where the beautiful flowers and plants once stood.
During her funeral at St Joseph’s Cathedral, people from all walks of life came to bid her farewell. Relatives, friends, former colleagues and even strangers who had once crossed paths with her turned up in droves.
Her ashes were interred at St Peter’s Columbarium on November 5. That site has since become a sacred place for us, not of sadness, but of remembrance. Every visit brings both tears and smiles as we recall the laughter and joy she brought into our lives.
Yesterday, after offering prayers at the columbarium, Kiki, Ravin and I returned home to host the second-anniversary gathering. Friends, relatives, and Ann’s former colleagues filled the house once more. Not with grief this time, but with stories, laughter and fond recollections of her.
It was heart-warming to see how vividly people remembered her, her gentle humour, her unassuming nature, her caring advice.
Some recalled how she would show up unexpectedly with food for someone unwell, or how she would quietly slip financial help into the hands of those in need.
As I watched those gathered, I realised that Ann’s presence continues to live on in every story told, in every tear shed, and in every act of kindness inspired by her memory. Two years may have passed, but the loss remains profound. Yet, amidst the pain, there is gratitude. Gratitude for having shared life’s journey with someone whose soul was so pure, whose love was so complete.
In moments of quiet reflection, I often recall her laughter echoing through the house, her soft yet firm voice calling the children for dinner. Those memories are what sustain us. They remind us that while life is transient, love is eternal.
The home may be quieter now, but her essence lingers in Max’s playful bark, in the framed photographs lining our walls, and in the values she instilled in us. Ann’s life, though cut short, reflects the power of goodness; of living simply, loving deeply and giving selflessly.
On the second anniversary of her passing, I can only whisper a silent prayer: Rest in peace, Ann. God loves you more. But know that your light still shines in our hearts, now and always.
The views expressed here are those of the columnist and do not necessarily represent the views of Sarawak Tribune. The writer can be reached at rajlira@gmail. com
