Finding Peace Through Purpose

Last night, we went to a candlelight concert. The warm glow of flickering candles, the delicate hum of instrumental music—it was a setting meant for tranquility. But amidst it all, my heart was elsewhere. All I could think about was Sana. Tears streamed down my face, wave after wave of sorrow that I couldn’t control. I cried until my heart felt like it was tearing apart. These days, it’s been harder than ever. Every moment, I find myself trapped in memories of last year at this exact time—reliving the agony, the helplessness, the slow unraveling of life as we knew it. As a mother, I always worried about my children falling sick, but with Sana, that worry was even more profound. She had endured so much—open-heart surgery at just two years old, a burst appendix at nine. And yet, she was always strong, never one to complain. I could never bear to see her in pain, and yet, I had to watch her suffer last year. The weight of that realization crushes me now. I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t take away her pain. Grief has an eerie way of making everything feel unreal. Sometimes, I feel like I’m watching myself from the outside, going through the motions of life without actually living. The depth of this loss is unfathomable, and I still don’t know how to move forward without her. Tonight, we attended a dinner hosted by a foundation dedicated to helping families with education and healthcare. As the speaker talked about how we can leave behind memories through the good we do for others, something inside me stirred. Maybe that’s the only way I’ll ever find even a sliver of peace—by doing something meaningful in Sana’s name. She was kind, compassionate, and deeply caring. If I can carry even a fraction of her light forward, maybe, just maybe, I can find purpose in this unbearable loss.