It’s not a dream

Waking Up to Loss: The Reality That Isn’t a Dream Grief has a way of playing tricks on the mind. Lately, I wake up each morning in that disorienting space between dream and reality, feeling as though the past few months were just a nightmare. It’s like the aftermath of a bad dream—when fear and helplessness are washed away by the comfort of waking. But unlike a nightmare, this feeling doesn’t dissipate. I keep expecting to open my eyes and feel that relief, but the ache is real, and it’s waiting for me each morning. My mother used to say that dreams about people dying were supposed to extend their lives—a strange superstition that I clung to in the early days, perhaps hoping for some hidden meaning or reassurance. But that thought, like so many others, has faded as reality sets in. I no longer wonder what the “trigger” is for my grief, because everything I see or feel seems to be a piece of Sana. Each item in the house, each activity, every plan holds a memory. This time of year is particularly raw for all of us. Idris’s birthday is just around the corner, and it feels like a sharp reminder of her absence. Sana was her father’s pride and joy. They shared a unique bond, one of mutual admiration and respect for each other’s strong opinions and thoughtful views. She always made sure she had a gift for him, and somehow, she managed to find something that was just right, even for someone as impossible to shop for as Idris. She had this wonderful way of creating something special—a present that spoke to both her love and her wit, always a little edgy and always from both her and Maahir. This year, Maahir had to take on that tradition by himself. He chose something thoughtful, but I could see the quiet sorrow in his eyes, a mix of nostalgia and longing. And for Idris, it’s hard to describe the pain I see in him. His friend is coming up from Florida to help celebrate, and we’ll do our best to mark the day. But there’s an emptiness I know will linger—her absence at his side, her laugh, her warmth. We’ll celebrate this year, but in some ways, we’ll also mourn. Each birthday, each holiday, each small tradition reminds us of her absence. And while we’ll gather together and go through the motions, we’ll carry with us the unspoken ache of missing her. It’s not a feeling that’s going away, and it’s not one I think we’d want to forget. It’s part of our love for her, a bittersweet reminder of how deeply she touched our lives.