The new reality

Today, I had a job interview at a preschool. As I walked in, the atmosphere hit me like a wave—memories of Sana flooded back. I had visited her so many times at the preschool where she taught in New York, watching her in her element with the children she loved so much. Walking into this new school brought it all rushing back, and for a moment, it was as if nothing had changed. During the interview, I spoke about her in the present tense. It felt natural because, in my heart, Sana is still so alive. But as the words left my mouth, I was reminded once again that she is no longer here. That realization hit me hard, and it lingered long after the interview was over. While the conversation went well, I found myself wondering if I could ever work in an environment that constantly reminds me of her. Could I handle being surrounded by children, knowing how much she loved her work, knowing she’s not here to continue her journey? Later in the day, there was a gathering at our new condo in Chicago—an opportunity for residents to meet and mingle. It was meant to feel like a fresh start, and in some ways, it did. Maahir and Serena came too, and their presence always brings a sense of comfort and familiarity. For a while, I felt good. It was a moment that felt hopeful, as if a new beginning was truly possible. But then, the inevitable question came up: "How many children do you have?" I paused, holding my breath, and forced myself to answer: "A son." As those words left my lips, it felt as though I was pretending to be normal, pretending that everything was okay. But the truth is, it’s not. Saying that Sana has passed away still feels surreal, like it can’t possibly be true. It’s a reality I struggle to accept every day, and in that moment, I felt like I was living in denial, trapped between what was and what is. Grief is strange like that. It makes you live in two worlds at once—the one where your loved one is still with you, and the one where they’re gone. And sometimes, it’s easier to stay in the former, even if just for a moment. But sooner or later, the reality catches up. The truth finds its way into your heart, even when you try to keep it at bay. Today reminded me of that—how we can feel so close to normal, yet so far from it. How we can begin to carve out new routines, new interactions, and yet the loss still lingers beneath the surface. It’s part of the journey, and as painful as it is, I’m learning that it’s okay to acknowledge the duality of living with loss. Some days will feel like new beginnings, and others will remind me just how much I miss her.