Going Home: A Journey Through Grief and Family

Going Home: A Journey Through Grief and Family I finally have my tickets booked for India. This December, I'll first go to Italy to see my niece, and then travel onward to India to see my family. It feels strange, even surreal, to say it out loud. I’d been putting off booking the flights for so long, feeling the weight of emotions I couldn’t quite express. Last year, around this time, Sana was arranging her own trip to Italy, and I was finalizing my plans to visit India. Life has changed so profoundly in just a year; it’s as if the entire landscape of my world has shifted, and with it, my sense of home. In truth, the thought of facing family after everything that’s happened has felt overwhelming. For weeks I sat in front of my computer, ready to purchase the tickets, and every time, I'd freeze. It’s not a feeling I’ve ever experienced before—a deep anxiety layered with a knot of fear and sadness. It’s as though part of me simply couldn’t bear the journey. Eventually, Maahir stepped in. He came over, took the reins, and booked the tickets himself. I’m grateful he did because otherwise, I may never have managed it on my own. Usually, the prospect of going home fills me with joy. My family has always been my comfort zone, a place where I find peace and belonging. But this time, that comfort feels layered with something else—an ache, a strange fear. I’m not just returning home; I’m walking back into a life that has been marked by loss, and part of me is afraid to face it head-on. Sana had always been the one urging me to go. She’d say, “Mom, Nani is getting old, you should go see her.” It was her gentle reminder to cherish those bonds while I could. Ironically, my mom still doesn’t know about Sana, and I’ve decided to keep it that way. She lives happily in her own world, a world untouched by this tragedy, and I want to preserve that for her. In her small world, Sana still exists, vibrant and full of life, and there’s comfort in leaving it that way, even if only for now. This trip feels different from any I’ve taken before. It’s a journey not just across miles, but back into memories, into spaces once filled with joy and a sense of completeness that now feels fractured. Yet, even with the heaviness, there is a quiet resolve within me. I know I must go, to embrace my family and to honor Sana's memory in whatever small way I can. Returning home is a step toward healing, even if it comes with an undercurrent of sorrow. This journey, though bittersweet, is a reminder that life moves forward, and we continue to find meaning, even amid the silence and the echoes of what we’ve lost.