Lull after the storm

We celebrated Sana’s birthday with all the love and joy we could muster, and the house was alive with chatter, laughter, and stories about her. Her friends, who have been such an important part of her life, spent the entire time with us, sharing memories and creating a beautiful tribute to the vibrant person Sana was. The love and energy in the house were overwhelming, and for a few days, it felt like she was right there with us, as if she was still part of every moment. One of our close friends from Texas, who had flown in to be with us, also left. She too has faced unimaginable loss, having lost her 29-year-old son five years ago in a tragic accident. Our shared pain as mothers who have lost a child created a bond that words cannot fully express. We found comfort in each other's presence, understanding each other’s grief in a way that only someone who has experienced such deep sorrow can. Now, the house feels still—almost unnervingly quiet. It’s the kind of quiet that settles after a storm, a lull that reflects the stillness we feel inside our hearts. The hustle and energy that filled our home for a few days have faded, and we’ve returned to our quiet spaces, feeling the weight of absence more deeply than before. This stillness is a stark contrast to the warmth we felt during the celebration, a reminder of the void left behind. The last few days have brought us moments of joy, laughter, and connection, but always with shades of sadness. Each moment was a tribute to Sana, a way of keeping her spirit alive. But now, in the stillness, we are left alone with our thoughts, our grief, and the weight of our loss. The contrast between the lively celebration and the current quietness is sharp, but I remind myself that both are part of the process. The joy we felt in celebrating her was real, and so is the quiet pain that follows. For those brief days, it was as if we were living in the past—surrounded by people who loved her, doing the things she loved. But now we must return to the present, to a life without her physical presence. And yet, even in this stillness, we carry her with us. Sana’s memory is part of everything we do, and her legacy continues to give us strength, even on the quietest, most difficult days. Grief is like that—a mix of joy and sorrow, celebration and stillness. And though it’s not easy, it’s how we honor her. We feel the weight of her absence, but we also hold onto the love that filled our home, if only for a few days.