Bidding Farewell to 2024: A Year of Loss and Reflection

Bidding Farewell to 2024: A Year of Loss and Reflection As we approach the end of 2024, I find myself reflecting on a year marked by profound loss. Last New Year’s Eve feels like a lifetime ago. We celebrated in Chicago with Maahir and Serena, filled with laughter and warmth. Sana was in Italy, soaking in the joy of her holiday adventures. We exchanged wishes for happiness and good health, blissfully unaware of what the year ahead would bring. This year, my plans are more subdued. I will spend New Year’s Eve with my mother and a few close friends. It feels fitting to be with those who bring comfort and stability in a time of emotional upheaval. I don’t feel the need to send out wishes or greetings this time. For me, it feels hollow, as if the ritual has lost its meaning in the face of such deep grief. But even in this haze of sorrow, life moves forward in small, significant ways. Maahir and Serena’s engagement is a bright spot on the horizon, and I’ve thrown myself into planning their party. I’ve been choosing outfits, buying little knickknacks, and focusing on the details that will make their celebration special. As much as we miss Sana, I know we must also celebrate Maahir and the milestones in his life. Love and loss coexist, and while our hearts ache for Sana, they also swell with pride and joy for Maahir. Idris, too, is navigating his own path through this season. He plans to go to Singapore, where Sana’s friends have organized a vigil in her memory. It’s a beautiful gesture, a testament to the love and impact she left behind. He will be there in time to honor her, surrounded by the people who held her dear. For us, New Year’s Eve will never be the same. It’s not just this year—it’s every year to come. Life, as we knew it, has changed irrevocably. We are learning to carry the weight of this loss while finding moments of light to keep us going. 2024 may have been a year of heartbreak, but it has also reminded me of the strength of family, the kindness of friends, and the enduring love that connects us all. As the clock strikes midnight, I won’t be wishing for a better year. Instead, I will simply hope for grace—to navigate each day with courage, to celebrate the joys that remain, and to honor the memory of the daughter who will forever hold a piece of my heart.

A Mother’s Embrace: Finding Peace Amid Grief

A Mother’s Embrace: Finding Peace Amid Grief Being with my mother always brings me a sense of peace, a quiet haven amidst the turbulence of life. At 92, she has the sweetest, gentlest demeanor. Her joy at seeing me upon my arrival in India was heartwarming. Yet, she remains content in her small world, oblivious to the storm of grief that surrounds me. During my visit, I showed her a photo from a recent family photoshoot. She complimented Serena, her sharp eyes still noticing beauty and detail. But then she asked, “Where is Sana?” Her question caught me off guard. Throughout the day, she repeated it, each time with the same sincerity. I dismounted her curiosity with the same response: “She’s working.” My mother nodded, satisfied, and said, “Yes, she’s a teacher.” It was strange and poignant. My mother often forgets names and faces, yet somehow, she remembered Sana. It felt as if, on some intuitive level, she knew. Later, my next-door neighbor, someone I grew up with, came over to see me. She asked gently, “How are you and Idris doing?” My response was simple yet raw: “We’re numb, and we’re alive.” Grief changes you in ways you can’t anticipate. For me, it has dulled my emotions, left me feeling hollow. Watching Sana struggle and eventually lose her battle has stripped me of my fears. The things that once seemed overwhelming now feel inconsequential. Idris and I are coping in our own ways, each of us navigating the same grief but with different approaches. He has immersed himself in activity—spending time with family, meeting friends, staying busy. It’s his way of processing, of keeping his mind engaged. For me, it’s the opposite. I don’t want to meet anyone outside of my closest circle—just family and a few dear friends. I lack the courage or the energy to engage in conversations that can’t possibly make me feel better. Initially, before coming to India, I had considered organizing a prayer meeting for Sana. It would have been a chance to gather everyone who reached out and prayed for her. But the thought of it was daunting. For someone who has always been sociable, the idea of facing a room full of people was overwhelming. Grief teaches us that there’s no “right” way to cope. Even as parents, Idris and I are walking this path differently. And that’s okay. What we share is the understanding that this loss is something we will never truly heal from. Instead, we will learn to live with it, to embrace life as it comes, carrying Sana’s memory with us every step of the way. Amidst the grief, I feel a profound sense of gratitude for the love and support we have received over these months. It has been a beacon of light in our darkest hours. While the pain remains, so does the love—a reminder of the kindness and compassion that still exists in the world, even when everything feels lost.

its 7 months- Italy, Istanbul, and India

its 7 months- Italy, Istanbul, and India Today, I left Italy with a heart weighed down by sadness. It was hard to say goodbye to my family there as I continued my journey to India. My layover in Istanbul gave me an opportunity to spend the night with my dear friend, Idil—a bittersweet stop that carried the echoes of Sana’s journey last year. Sana had visited Idil on her way to Italy, and revisiting those memories brought a wave of emotions. We sat together, reminiscing about Sana’s gentle and kind-hearted nature. Idil’s son, Niko, remembers her vividly. At his tender age, he is beginning to grasp the concept of death. Idil told me that when she explained Sana was unwell and might not be able to visit, he tearfully asked, “Is Ms. Sana dead?” His words broke my heart. Being with Idil was comforting because she genuinely loved Sana and felt her loss deeply. It was a brief yet meaningful encounter that provided some solace before I embarked on the next leg of my journey. Now, as I head to India, I find myself gripped with anxiety. This will be the first time I face my family since Sana’s passing. The thought of seeing my mom is both comforting and challenging. There’s an ache in my heart that only a mother’s love can ease. All I want to do is rest my head in her lap, even though she doesn’t know about Sana. The weight of that silence is both a shield and a burden. Today is bittersweet in more ways than one. Maahir turns 25, a milestone we should be celebrating with unbridled joy. But it also marks seven months since we lost Sana. It’s hard to reconcile the mix and I find myself navigating these conflicting emotions as best as I can. I no longer dare to hope that next year will be better. Trauma has taught me that life is unpredictable, and expectations often lead to heartbreak. Instead, I focus on getting through each day, finding solace in the little moments and hoping that the day ends on a peaceful note. This journey from Italy to India is more than just a physical transition; it’s a journey through love, loss, and the enduring power of memories. Each step forward feels like a tribute to Sana, a way to honor her presence in my life even in her absence.

Keeping Sana’s Spirit Alive: A Year of Love and Remembrance

Keeping Sana’s Spirit Alive: A Year of Love and Remembrance Yesterday marked a bittersweet milestone—a year since Sana arrived in Italy. Ritika reminded me of how excited she had been about that trip. Sana had always dreamt of celebrating Christmas in the most traditional way possible, and last year, her wish came true. Despite being jet-lagged from her journey, she was brimming with enthusiasm for the festive dinner. Ritika’s family, in an incredibly thoughtful gesture, decided to open gifts earlier than midnight so Sana could partake without fighting exhaustion. It was a simple, yet deeply meaningful act of love. To honor that memory, I decided to replicate what Sana had done last year. It was an emotional experience for me, filled with moments of joy and pain. As I prepared and celebrated, it felt like Sana was right there with us. The entire family misses her every single day. Sana’s friends in Singapore are also keeping her memory alive in the most beautiful way. They’ve planned a vigil in her honor, gathering all those who loved her to celebrate her life. Idris will be in Singapore at the time, and he’s thrilled to be part of this heartfelt tribute. It’s a gesture that speaks volumes about the love Sana inspired in those around her. She was truly fortunate to be surrounded by such amazing friends. At school, Maya recently wrote an essay about a sad moment in her life, choosing Sana’s passing as her subject. Reading her words was a poignant reminder of the many lives Sana touched, often without even realizing it. Sana had a quiet humility about her, often underestimating the impact she had on others. She was the kind of person who left an indelible mark, not through grand gestures, but through her kindness, empathy, and authenticity. My hope is that, as she looks down on all of us now, she finally sees herself through the eyes of those who loved her and feels a sense of peace and happiness. This past year has been a journey of loss, reflection, and connection. Through these shared memories and gestures of love, Sana’s spirit remains very much alive. She may not be here physically, but her presence continues to be felt in the lives she touched, the love she gave, and the legacy of kindness she left behind.

The Silent Struggle: Addiction, Mental Health, and the Quest for Independence

The Silent Struggle: Addiction, Mental Health, and the Quest for Independence Addiction often masks deeper struggles, rooted in mental health challenges that many young people face. Depression and anxiety can drive individuals to seek solace in substances like alcohol or marijuana. These offer a fleeting sense of relief—a temporary escape from their inner turmoil. But beneath that surface lies a profound pain that needs to be understood, not ignored. I’ve spoken before about a friend’s daughter who is currently navigating this storm. She’s turned to alcohol as a way to cope, seeking moments of false happiness to shield herself from the weight of her struggles. It’s a situation that reminds me deeply of Sana, my own daughter. Sana, too, sometimes turned to drinking to quiet her anxieties. Alcohol provided her with a temporary reprieve, a sense of freedom from the inhibitions that her mental health often imposed. Both Sana and my friend’s daughter share a common thread—a desire for independence and self-reliance. Yet, for those raised in Eastern cultures, family is a cornerstone of support. Balancing the yearning for autonomy with the comfort of family can be an incredibly delicate act. Sana wanted to live on her own. Despite our efforts to make things easier for her—renting a place in New Jersey close to the train station to facilitate her commute—she was adamant about maintaining her independence. My friend’s daughter mirrors this determination. Despite her parents’ unwavering support and their offer to return home, she insists on staying in New York, much like Sana did. As a parent, watching this unfold is heart-wrenching. The helplessness is palpable, a feeling I recognize all too well. My friend’s voice carries the weight of her worry, echoing my own emotions from when I was in her place. Parents like us find solace in each other, leaning on this community of shared experiences for comfort and understanding. When I speak to my friend’s daughter, it feels as if Sana is speaking to me again. Their reasoning, their logic—it’s hauntingly similar. It stems from a mental state that is desperately trying to find balance, to feel grounded, and to navigate a world that often feels too overwhelming. Through all her struggles, Sana managed to excel in her work. Her commitment and dedication shone brightly, earning her admiration from everyone she worked with. It’s a testament to her strength, even in the face of immense internal battles. To all parents, I offer this: never disregard your child’s mental health. It’s a silent struggle, one that can be all-consuming. For them, the effort to simply exist, to fit in, and to keep up with their peers is monumental. Your support, understanding, and acknowledgment of their pain can make all the difference. Let’s continue to support one another as we navigate this journey. Together, we can provide the strength our children need, even in their hardest moments.

A Mother’s Quiet Fear

A Mother’s Quiet Fear: How Grief Shapes Every Moment Maahir and Serena’s trip was something we had all been looking forward to—a chance to break away from the routine and create new memories. But life has a way of throwing unexpected challenges, and a bad case of food poisoning forced them to cancel. While it was disappointing, my reaction was far from what it might have been in the past. When Maahir first began feeling unwell, with nausea, stomach pain, and vomiting, my mind instantly went back to Sana. These were the symptoms she endured all too often. Yet, she faced them with a quiet strength that still humbles me. Sana rarely complained, even on the toughest days, while navigating constant discomfort. Watching Maahir struggle for just two days reminded me of the toll these ailments must have taken on her. It was heartbreaking to realize how much she had gone through silently. In normal circumstances, I might have reacted with frustration or sadness to the cancellation of their trip. But now, all I felt was a dull sense of disappointment. Trauma has stripped away the highs and lows, leaving behind a numbness that colors every experience. The only strong emotion that crept in was anxiety—not about the trip, but about Maahir’s health. Having lived through Sana’s viral infection and the unimaginable outcome that followed, every minor illness now triggers an overwhelming fear. My mind races to worst-case scenarios, replaying the past as if it could happen all over again. The trauma has rewired my brain, making it impossible to separate a simple health issue from the shadow of loss. Grief changes you in ways you never expect. It hollows out emotions, leaving behind a person who struggles to feel fully. I find it hard to cry, even when my heart feels like it’s carrying an unbearable weight. The tears don’t come, but the pain remains, quietly shaping every thought and action. This journey of grief is one I never wanted to take, but it’s now a part of who I am. Life moves forward, but it does so in shades of gray. Moments of happiness are fleeting, and fear lingers in the background. Yet, in the midst of it all, I hold onto the memories of Sana’s courage and love. They are my anchor, reminding me to keep going, one day at a time.

Sweet nothings

Every single day feels like a tribute to Sana, a way of keeping her close through her memories. Her presence lingers in our lives, especially now as we are planning a small engagement celebration for Maahir and Serena. Maahir misses her deeply, and the void her absence has created is undeniable. As the plans for the engagement move forward, Maahir confided in me that he has been dreaming of Sana almost every night. These dreams, while a bittersweet comfort, have heightened his anxiety about his upcoming trip to Italy—a place that holds such strong memories of her. To cope, I have immersed myself in spending time with Ritika and her children. Cooking meals together, watching movies, and simply being around them brings a kind of warmth that I didn’t realize I needed. It feels like a chapter of my life with Sana has been reopened. Helping Maya with her homework, working on crafts and experiments, and watching the kids play tennis instantly transports me to the days when Sana and Maahir were young. Those years were filled with innocence and joy, and revisiting similar moments now puts a balm on my heart. For a fleeting time, it gives me a semblance of happiness, a connection to a time when life felt whole. Today, I went to the local market and bought something special for Serena. As I picked it out, a familiar ache settled in—this act, once so simple, used to revolve around Sana. In the past, it was always Sana for whom I shopped. She had such a discerning eye for detail and style, and she loved when I found things that matched her taste. Now, standing in the same market stalls, it feels both comforting and painful to carry forward these routines. Tomorrow, we’re going to a recital with Ritika’s children. The thought of being surrounded by music and creativity makes me nostalgic for all the events I attended with Sana and Maahir when they were young. Whether it was school performances, dance recitals, or sporting events, Sana always had a twinkle in her eye, and Maahir was her biggest cheerleader. Watching Ritika’s kids perform will surely bring a mix of emotions—joy in their achievements and a deep longing for those irreplaceable moments with my own children. Every moment I spend with Ritika’s family feels like a bridge to my past life with Sana. It’s as though I am reliving some of the happiest times while trying to balance the weight of loss. In small ways, these moments bring healing, even as I grapple with the enormity of grief. What else can we do, after all? Life continues forward, no matter how much we long for the past. I try to find solace in these shared experiences and small acts of love, knowing that in some way, they honor Sana and keep her spirit alive.

Sana's Beautiful Soul"

Finding Comfort in Sana's Beautiful Soul Today is Idris’s mother’s birthday. For her, it is a bittersweet day, filled with love but also with an unspoken sadness. Sana was her only granddaughter, the first grandchild, and the light of her life. She adored Sana, who in turn was a beacon of love and care. As a child, Sana was always drawn to her grandmother, forming a bond that only deepened over the years. When I called to wish her a happy birthday, she became emotional, unable to hold back her tears as she spoke of how much she missed Sana. Together, we consoled one another, reminding ourselves that Sana is in a better place. Yet, that thought does little to truly ease the ache of her absence. It’s strange how grief connects us to others who have endured similar losses. As parents, we hear of tragedies—other parents losing their children—and feel a pang of sorrow for them. But then, life moves forward, and we return to our routines. When I was younger, my cousin was tragically killed by a disturbed neighbor. She was the same age as Sana when her life was cruelly taken. I remember witnessing the profound pain and trauma that her parents and siblings endured, but I didn’t truly grasp the depth of their grief. How could I? It was impossible to fathom such loss until it became my own reality. Today, memories of Sana’s beautiful soul keep surfacing. During my time here, I have witnessed a bond between Maya and Luigi—Maya, the loving big sister, always looking out for her younger brother. It reminds me so much of Sana and Maahir. Sana was Maahir’s protector, his guide, and his unwavering source of love. She would often look out for him in the way only an older sibling could. The photos of them together tell stories of this deep sibling bond—Sana with her arm around Maahir, her smile filled with affection, and her eyes radiating pride. It’s these small, yet profound, memories that I hold close to my heart now. We often take these everyday moments for granted, failing to recognize them as the very essence of who our loved ones are. But now, I find myself clinging to them, replaying those moments of kindness, love, and connection that made Sana such a beautiful soul. Life, as relentless as it is, continues forward. Yet, for those of us carrying the weight of loss, it moves at a different pace—one punctuated by memories, by moments of longing, and by the hope of reunion. I hold onto the belief that one day, I will see Sana again. Until then, I’ll continue to find solace in these memories, cherishing the person she was and the love she gave so freely to all of us. While it’s easy to overlook these beautiful traits in the rush of daily life, I find myself now cherishing and reminiscing about all the things that made Sana such a remarkable and loving soul. Life moves forward, but I hold on to the comforting belief that someday, in another time and place, I will be reunited with her.

Market Days and Memories: Shopping for Sana in Italy

Italy has always held a special charm for me, not just for its breathtaking landscapes and rich culture but for the little experiences that make life here so special. One of those is the weekly markets—vibrant, bustling spaces where vendors sell everything from clothes and shoes to housewares. In the past, Thursday mornings meant an exciting trip to these markets, a ritual of sorts that Sana and I loved. Today, we decided to revisit this tradition. As we approached the market, the familiar sounds and sights brought a flood of memories rushing back. Sana, my baby, adored these markets. She had an innate knack for finding treasures amidst the chaos, an avid shopper at heart who loved the thrill of a good deal. Her slim frame meant she never had trouble finding clothes that fit her perfectly, and her sharp eye always gravitated toward the best picks. But today, every step through the market felt heavy. Every stall I passed, every dress I touched, I thought of Sana. She was always on my mind during trips like these. I would shop for her, picking out pieces I knew she’d love or things I thought would suit her best. She had this way of knowing exactly what I’d like too. I can still hear her voice teasing me as she’d hold up a dress or a scarf and roll her eyes, saying, “Mom, this is just your style. I know you’ll like it.” And she was always right. The sadness of realizing I’ll never share another shopping trip with her is overwhelming. It’s these simple, everyday moments I miss the most—the laughter, the shared excitement over a great find, her radiant smile when she came across something she truly loved. After the market, we stopped for lunch. Italy’s food scene is another thing Sana loved. Pizza, gelato, pasta, coffee, desserts—she savored it all with the enthusiasm of someone who truly appreciated the little joys in life. Every bite I took reminded me of her. I remembered how she’d finish two scoops of gelato with ease, her eyes twinkling as she sat at the table, chatting animatedly with Maya and Luigi during our last trip. Sana had a childlike charm that endeared her to everyone, especially kids. I remember her giggling at the gelato store, her joy so infectious it lit up the entire place. Her carefree, lighthearted nature made her a magnet for happiness. Sitting here now, surrounded by all these familiar things, it’s hard to grasp that she’s gone. This trip to Italy is filled with echoes of her. Everywhere I go, every little thing I do, I’m reminded of her presence, her laughter, her love for life. The market, the gelato, the clothes—everything is tied to her in some way. Sana, my angel, you are in everything I see, everything I do. This journey, like so much of my life, is for you. While the sadness is profound, I also feel a sense of closeness to you, knowing that I am walking the paths you once did, carrying your spirit with me. This trip is a tribute to the beautiful person you were and the love you continue to inspire in me.

A Journey to Naples: Finding Sana in Every Moment

A Journey to Naples: Finding Sana in Every Moment As I arrived in Naples, a wave of emotions swept over me—grief, anticipation, and a bittersweet longing. My throat felt tight, my heart heavy as I stood by the baggage carousel, waiting for my bags. Memories flooded in, of Sana making this same trip around this time last year. It felt as though her presence lingered in the very air, accompanying me on this journey. Seeing my niece at the airport brought a measure of comfort. Her warm embrace was filled with unspoken words, an acknowledgment of the shared sadness we carried. The moment was tender yet heavy, and as we exchanged greetings, I could feel the undercurrent of loss between us. Visiting her in-laws and family was even harder. They had been with Sana during her trip last year, and the memories of her time with them were vivid and fresh. When they saw me, their eyes welled up with tears. They expressed their sorrow for our shared loss, their words tinged with the kind of grief that doesn’t fade with time. Then there was Maya—my niece’s daughter—a little girl who had a special bond with Sana. Maya adored her, and from the moment I met her, I felt an instant connection. As she ran up to me, I couldn’t help but think of Sana’s time here, sharing a room with Maya. Now, I was staying in that same room, retracing Sana’s steps in this house that held so much of her memory. Before leaving for this trip, I had packed a few of Sana’s belongings for Maya—her Kindle, a bag, some jewelry, and her favorite perfume. Maya, an avid reader just like Sana, lit up with joy as she received these gifts. Her delight was palpable, and in that moment, it was as though Sana’s essence was alive and present in the room. Maya reminded me so much of Sana—her sensitivity, her intelligence, and the way she carried herself with quiet confidence. She has a mind of her own, definite opinions about books, movies, and the world around her, much like Sana did. Spending time with her has been heartwarming, almost like having a small piece of Sana back in my life. Every corner of this trip feels connected to Sana in some way. From the family I’m surrounded by, who shared moments with her last year, to the small gestures like sharing her belongings with Maya, it’s a journey of remembrance and reconnection. Grief has a way of intertwining with joy, creating moments that are as beautiful as they are painful. Being here in Naples, surrounded by those who loved Sana, has reminded me of the profound impact she had on the lives she touched. This trip, though heavy with memories, feels right. It’s a way to honor Sana, to hold onto her in the spaces she once occupied, and to find comfort in the connections she left behind. Through Maya and the family, I feel her presence, her love, and her light. And for that, I am profoundly grateful.

A Journey of Reflection: From Italy to India, and Back in Time

A Journey of Reflection: From Italy to India, and Back in Time Finally, the day arrived for my long-anticipated trip to Italy and India. But instead of excitement, I was overwhelmed with anxiety—a suffocating, unexplainable dread that seemed to grow with each passing moment. Even Idris, who left for his own trip earlier, shared the same lack of enthusiasm. For both of us, travel, once a joyful escape, now feels weighted with memories and loss. Maahir, ever the thoughtful son, accompanied me to the airport. As we stood in the check-in line, I felt the past rushing back to me with startling clarity. It was as though time had folded in on itself. Just last year, I had been at this very spot, boarding a flight to India on the same day Sana returned from her trip to Italy. The memory of that day played out in my mind like a vivid film reel. Sana stood beside me at the Turkish Airlines counter, her jet lag apparent but her spirit ever bright. She carried a few pieces of clothing she had purchased in Italy, asking me to get them altered in India. Her practicality mingled with her usual charm, a moment so ordinary yet now so poignant. That memory brought a heaviness to my heart—a reminder of how much has changed in the span of a year. The lead-up to this trip was also marked by loss. Just a day before my departure, my uncle—my mom’s brother—passed away in Surat. He had always held a special place in our lives, especially for my mom, and I have countless memories of visiting him with Maahir and Sana during trips to Mumbai. His passing felt significant, yet strangely, I couldn’t cry. Grief has altered me in ways I’m only beginning to understand. Where once the loss of a loved one would have shattered me, now it feels like a distant echo. Maybe it’s numbness. Maybe it’s the enormity of the grief I carry for Sana, which has changed how I process everything else. Now, as I sit in the lounge in Istanbul during my layover, I can’t help but think about last year when Sana and I passed through this same route. She had made this stopover on her way back from Italy, and I was here preparing for my own journey. It’s surreal how places and moments seem to intertwine, bridging the past and the present in unexpected ways. Despite the heaviness in my heart, I am looking forward to the next part of my trip—seeing my niece and her family in Italy. They have always been a source of comfort and joy, and I know this visit will bring a sense of connection that I desperately need right now. This journey is not just a physical one; it’s a journey through time, memory, and emotion. It’s about confronting the weight of the past while trying to embrace the present. It’s about holding space for grief while finding glimpses of hope. Traveling this path without Sana feels like walking through a shadow, but in that shadow, there is her light. It guides me, reminds me of her love, and gives me the strength to keep moving forward.

Celebrating Maahir’s Engagement: Finding Joy Amidst Grief

Celebrating Maahir’s Engagement: Finding Joy Amidst Grief This week, our home was filled with a mix of emotions as we celebrated Maahir and Serena’s engagement. It was a simple ceremony, followed by dinner, but it was so much more than just an event. It was a heartfelt attempt to bring some joy into our lives, even as we carry the weight of grief. Planning the ceremony was a journey in itself. A few friends explained the cultural customs to me, and I was eager to honor them. I needed to gift Serena a small piece of jewelry, a new outfit, and something sweet to eat as part of the tradition. While sorting through the locker, searching for the perfect piece of jewelry, my eyes landed on a pair of gold butterfly earrings. They were Sana’s. A wave of emotion washed over me as I held them in my hands. These earrings had been her favorite when she was younger. I had forgotten about them entirely until that moment. It felt like a sign, a quiet nudge from Sana, to include her in this celebration of her brother’s happiness. With a full heart, I decided to gift those earrings to Serena. The small ceremony was ar hone with the four of us. Although it was a joyous occasion, I couldn’t help but feel Sana’s presence. I imagined her teasing Maahir, poking fun at him in her usual playful way, and celebrating with the same enthusiasm she always brought to family moments. Afterward, we went out for dinner at a restaurant that, coincidentally, served Sana’s favorite cuisine. It felt like another subtle reminder of her, as if she was still weaving herself into the fabric of our lives, even in her physical absence. Maahir and Serena spoke about their plans for a small engagement party in India, where Serena is excited to embrace Indian traditions and wear Indian clothes. This trip to India will be different for me—it’s the first time I’ll be shopping for someone else’s engagement attire. In the past, it was always about shopping for Sana. Every experience, every decision, feels deeply connected to her, as though she’s still guiding us. As I prepare for this trip, there’s a part of me that holds onto an impossible hope. What if, somehow, she could come back to us? It’s a fleeting thought, born from the depths of longing, but it’s there nonetheless. Balancing grief and joy as parents is one of the hardest things we’ve had to do. On one hand, we celebrate Maahir and Serena’s love and the beautiful life they are building together. On the other hand, we carry Sana’s absence like a shadow. Yet, even in the midst of this duality, I feel her presence—through memories, through signs, and through the love that binds us as a family. This celebration was more than a ceremony. It was a testament to love, resilience, and the enduring bond of family. It reminded me that even as we grieve, we can find moments of joy and hope—and that Sana, in her own way, is always with us, celebrating alongside us.

Travel plans

Travel plans: A Journey Through Therapy, Anxiety, and Memories This week, I had my first session with a new psychiatrist. It felt like a small step forward, and I was grateful for his approach—he was patient, empathetic, and understanding. During our conversation, he shared two insights that struck a deep chord with me, which I feel compelled to share. First, he explained that research identifies losing a child as the most traumatic event a person can experience. Grief, he added, is the most complex and difficult emotion to process. That acknowledgment was both validating and overwhelming. He then talked about the relationship between guilt and anxiety, helping me see that much of what I am experiencing right now is a natural response to the immense weight of loss. Simple, mundane tasks have become incredibly difficult for me—something I never fully understood until now. It reminded me of Sana, who often struggled with seemingly small things, like making a phone call. I remember feeling helpless watching her battle that invisible weight, and now, I find myself in a similar place. Even the act of interacting with people has become exhausting, to the point where I’ve distanced myself from most. It’s a strange and isolating reality. Some people don’t understand grief, and many don’t want to address it. They seem unsure of whether to talk about Sana or behave as if nothing happened. But avoiding the topic feels like denial to me. Talking about her is acknowledging the reality of her life—and her absence. This anxiety has been so intense lately that, at times, I feel on the verge of a breakdown. Yet, speaking to my doctor brought some reassurance. He reminded me that it’s okay to feel this way and that there is no timeline for healing. Grief doesn’t follow a schedule—it takes as long as it takes. One of my biggest anxieties right now revolves around my upcoming trips to Italy and India. This time last year, Sana was planning her own trip to Italy while I prepared for my journey to India. I vividly remember asking if I should visit her in Italy first. She told me no—she wanted to spend time alone with my niece. My niece and I share a bond that feels more like mother and daughter. She has always been a part of my life in the most meaningful way. Sana, though slightly jealous, often joked about it, saying, “No, Mom. I’m your firstborn!” It was a playful rivalry that masked her deep affection for my niece. On that trip, they spent so much time together, and those memories are a treasure. This year, I plan to retrace Sana’s steps in Italy. I’ll visit the same places she did, travel on the same airline, and even take the same stopover in Istanbul, where Sana had visited a dear friend of mine. Initially, replicating this journey felt like a way to stay connected to her, but now, as the trip approaches, I feel a hollow ache in my stomach. Idris can’t bring himself to come—his memories of Sana in Italy are still too raw. Seeing my niece and her family keeps me going. I know how much it would mean to Sana, who loved them dearly, and I’m holding on to that thought as I prepare for this journey. But right now, I feel numb—a peculiar mix of anticipation and dread. It’s strange to think about how different our lives were at this exact time last year. I couldn’t have imagined the drastic changes that would unfold or the depth of the grief I would come to know. But grief is like that—unpredictable and all-encompassing. As I navigate this path, I’m reminded that grief is a process, a series of motions we must go through. It doesn’t make sense, and it doesn’t have to. What matters is finding ways to honor Sana, to carry her with me, and to keep moving forward—one small step at a time.

A Bittersweet Journey: Michigan and Memories of Sana

A Bittersweet Journey: Michigan and Memories of Sana As we make our way back to Chicago with hearts that feel both heavy and grateful, I find myself reflecting on our recent trip to Michigan. It was a bittersweet experience, wrapped in the comforting warmth of friendships yet shadowed by the ache of memories from two years ago when we made this same trip with Sana. The drive up to Michigan was quiet, a time for reflection as the familiar sights brought back flashes of moments spent with her. Two years ago, the house was alive with her laughter and energy. I could still hear her voice echoing in my mind, her distinct laughter filling the air as she and Serena worked excitedly on crafting glue guns for everyone—a small but endearing task that had us all amused and brought so much joy to the trip. This time, the house felt different. The spaces that had once been animated by her presence now seemed quieter, yet her memory was everywhere. There was a bittersweet comfort in revisiting those spaces, as if we were embracing the tangible remnants of her spirit. Being with our friends—who are more like family—helped ease some of the pain. They welcomed us with open arms, providing the kind of love and support that only close bonds can offer. It was a reminder that even in grief, there are people who anchor us, who help us carry the weight of our loss. One of the highlights of the trip was meeting Sana’s friends in Michigan. Although it was a brief visit, the joy it brought me was immeasurable. These are friends with whom we’ve shared countless beautiful moments during our time in Singapore—people who knew Sana, loved her, and continue to carry her memory in their hearts. It was heartening to see how much she still means to them, and to hear their stories and recollections of her warmth, kindness, and vibrant personality. Yet, as I think about what lies ahead, anxiety settles in my chest. Our upcoming trips to Italy and India feel daunting. Traveling, which once filled me with excitement, now feels heavy with the weight of memories and the unavoidable reminders of her absence. It’s as though my heart has become a fragile teacup—glued back together after shattering, but with cracks that are still visible and will always remain. But even with these cracks, my heart holds her. Sana is forever etched into the very fabric of my being. Her voice, her laughter, her love—they are not gone; they live on within me, within our family, and within the people whose lives she touched. As we drove back, I looked out at the vast landscapes, feeling both the loss and the beauty of the world around me. This trip to Michigan was a reminder of how life continues, even when it feels like a part of us has stopped. It was also a reminder of the power of connection—of friends, of family, and of memories—to help us navigate this journey of grief. Sana’s absence is a void we will carry forever, but her presence in our hearts will always be a guiding light.