That day, my phone was very busy. A lot of people were calling me, sending me messages and all that. I think she had sent me a message, but I didn’t see it. And her call came through. It was an American number. I even thought it was probably my cousin in the U.S. who had changed her number. When I picked up, it was an unfamiliar voice. She introduced herself as Greta, a medical doctor.

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She asked if it was a good time to talk. I said yes. She said she saw my number on this page. I was raising funds for my son’s surgery. She had sent me money, but apart from that, she would like to talk to me when I was less busy.

The next time she called me she asked, “Tell me about yourself and tell me about your son.”

I think I was more focused on the medical aspect of our journey. She asked what I do apart from working as an editor and a freelance writer. I explained all the work I’ve done and how freelancing works for me because of the flexibility it gives.

Anyone who knows me well enough knows that I’m not very good at reaching out to people — even my closest friends. Some people drift away from me because of this but Greta kept texting me and calling to check up on us. We were talking one day when she said, “I know I sound young, but I am in my fifties.” I was like, “Whoa!” I started calling her Auntie Greta from that day.

She has become my family. She was very present when we were going to the hospital for visits. There was a time I took him to the hospital after he had a fever. I had stabilised him before taking him there, so they thought he was fine and didn’t attend to us early, even when the fever returned we were ignored. I took him there at dawn and left the hospital almost at 5 p.m., and nobody had attended to us. She took his surgeon’s number and contacted him herself.

Somehow, his doctors didn’t like the way it made them look. They started taking us more seriously after that.

After his surgery, we were in the hospital for about ten or eleven days. She sent us money, and constantly called to check up on us. I mean she would call me three times a day. We were seven hours apart. Sometimes, when she called, it was midnight where she was. Other times, she called during her lunch break. She had a very busy schedule, but she always made time.

I remember one night when she called me. I told her, “The doctors are not telling me anything but things are not looking good.”

She said, “God is still in the miracle business. Let’s keep praying.” Then she sent me a song by Jonathan McReynolds “God is good.” She encouraged me that no matter how I was feeling, I should keep trusting God.

I remember the night they called me to the ICU to say goodbye to my boy. Her call came through. I couldn’t pick up but I called her back when I returned to the ward.

I calmly mentioned her name, “Auntie Greta, I don’t have good news. He’s gone.” I still remember the pain in her voice as she said, “Oh!”

After the burial, she spoke to me about therapy and grief counselling. The surgeons had said I could use their in-house psychologist, but I couldn’t go back there. It felt like going back to the scene of a crime.

Aunt Greta made some calls and got me a therapist. The sessions were expensive — four hundred cedis each — and I did eight of them. She paid for every single one.

My dad died three weeks after my son passed. That one too, she was there. Listening to my tantrums, and comforting me.

She would call me after every therapy session, talk to me, encourage me, and share her own life experiences. For someone who was so empowering, her life hasn’t been easy. She had her own challenges but the way she carried them made her strength admirable. She taught me that problems don’t have to define who you are.

Over the two years since she came into my life, she’s been a constant. She has truly become my aunt.

The first time I met her in person was just a few months ago, when she came to Ghana for her father’s burial. Can you believe she was this kind to someone she hadn’t even seen?

It baffles me how someone who didn’t know me and gains nothing from me could just choose to love me the way she does.

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When she hears of opportunities, she sends them to me. She’ll say, “Send me your CV, I’ll speak to someone for you.” She’s always trying to help, always trying to make my life better.

Today, on the two-year anniversary of my son’s death, I’ve been thinking about everything we went through. I have an incredible support system that I am forever thankful for. Auntie Greta has been one of the strongest pillars of this system.

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My relationship with her began on this page. That’s why I have decided to use this same channel to let her know that every time I tell her, “Thank you,” I feel it’s not enough. I wish I could do or say more to show her my gratitude.

Aunt Greta, thank you for being everything I didn’t even know I needed. Thank you for nurturing me. Thank you for the love you poured into my son when he was here. Thank you for teaching me that there’s goodness in places we sometimes don’t go searching. May God bless you, and may I one day become the kind of woman you are.

—Afi

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