Speeches and blogs

Lately, writing has become a daily ritual, almost like an unwritten routine that I can’t quite explain. It’s as if Sana guides me—deciding when and what I need to write. I woke up this morning and found myself having conversations with a few people dealing with their own heavy challenges. One was going through marital struggles, and the other had a daughter battling severe depression. As I listened to their stories, I couldn’t help but draw from my own experiences, sharing how I’ve been coping with grief. It’s a little odd, to be honest. I sometimes feel like I haven’t fully processed my own grief, so how can I be the one offering support to others? But there’s something inside me, a strength I don’t always recognize, that allows me to be there for them. And for that, I am truly grateful. In the process of writing a speech for Maahir and Serena’s engagement, I found myself drawn to mention Sana. Although Idris has promised to give the speech, I couldn’t help but include her—she had to be part of the occasion. Even though she’s no longer physically here, her spirit is present. It’s in the memories, in the love we still carry for her. And I wanted to honor that in the speech, to ensure that she’s always part of these milestones, these moments of joy. Grief, I’ve come to learn, is not logical. It doesn’t always make sense or come when we expect it. Just two days ago, I was resting, feeling flushed, and I suddenly found myself back in last year. I thought about Sana, how she had been feeling fluish, needing to rest, and how she would always ask me to stay with her. She’d tell me, “I’m okay,” but still wanted me close. I’m so grateful I spent that time with her, sitting by her side while watching Netflix, her hand in mine. It’s moments like that that I cherish, the quiet ones where we simply existed together. Now, as I seek my own mother’s touch, even at this age, I realize how deep that need for comfort runs. It’s a love that never fades, even as we grow older. Thinking back, I marvel at Sana’s strength. She was resilient, never once complaining, just needing a little care, a little love. When I’m feeling low, it’s her touch I long for, the soothing presence of a daughter who always knew how to make me feel needed. Grief can be so illogical in the way it connects moments and memories in such strange, unexpected ways. But I’ve learned to embrace it. These are the moments that remind me how truly blessed I was to have had Sana in my life, even if for a short time. So, I say thank you for those moments, those quiet times that brought me comfort. I hold them close as I continue my journey through grief—finding strength in the love that remains and the memories that continue to guide me. In response to my last blog about Sana’s belief in 11:11, a cousin of mine reached out and told me something that brought me a little peace. She said that 11:11 is the number of angels. In that moment, I realized that Sana is, indeed, a true angel—one that will always watch over us.