Guilt and comfort- intertwined emotions

Returning to Chicago has brought with it an unexpected sense of relief. For now, living at Maahir’s place offers a comfort that feels almost surreal. There’s something undeniably soothing about being surrounded by love, about seeing your child every day. It’s a temporary arrangement, I know—we’ll be moving into our own apartment soon—but at this moment, it feels like a small haven, a respite from the heaviness of New Jersey. Leaving New Jersey, in many ways, has been a relief. But with that relief comes an undercurrent of guilt. How can I feel any sense of comfort after everything we’ve been through? How can I sleep through the night without waking up with that familiar weight on my chest? It’s strange, but for the first time in a long while, I woke up feeling rested, without that immediate rush of sorrow. It was a simple, almost forgotten sensation—to wake up and not be immediately burdened by grief. And yet, instead of peace, I’m left questioning myself. How can I feel any form of relief or happiness after losing Sana? It’s as if I’m in a state of trance, watching myself from the outside, wondering why these moments of comfort are even possible. The guilt pangs are real, gnawing at me for allowing myself to feel anything other than sorrow. Is it okay to feel relief, to experience a brief sense of happiness, even as I’m still mourning? Staying with Maahir is allowing me to experience joy and comfort—emotions that feel both foreign and familiar. But it’s also stirring up a complex web of emotions. The love and warmth here in Chicago are real, but so too are the memories and the grief that I carry with me. It’s a delicate balance, navigating between the two. Perhaps this is part of the journey—learning to accept that it’s okay to feel both grief and relief, sorrow and comfort. Maybe it’s about understanding that these emotions don’t negate one another but coexist in this complicated, messy process of healing. And maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to allow myself to feel comfort in Maahir’s presence, even as I continue to mourn Sana. Grief doesn’t have a rulebook, and the path isn’t linear. Some days will bring relief, others will bring pain. But I’m learning that it’s okay to embrace those moments of comfort when they come, without guilt or hesitation. Because in the end, love and loss are intertwined, and perhaps the only way forward is to honor both.