Angels Watching Over Us

Angels Watching Over Us When a friend came to visit me recently, we found ourselves connected by a bond no parent wishes to share — the loss of a child. She had lost her daughter, Sonia, in a tragic car accident at just 18 years old. That day, she wore Sonia’s bracelet. She told me she hadn’t been able to wear it for ten years, but had finally found the courage. Later, while sitting together, she suddenly realized the bracelet was gone. The panic and grief in her eyes mirrored my own. I understood her fear immediately. I, too, hold on tightly to Sana’s belongings. I wear her things often to keep her close to my heart. To lose something so precious feels unbearable — as though another piece of them has slipped away. I tried to reassure her. I told her, “You will find it.” And she did. The bracelet was waiting for her on her dresser at home. She had been so certain she was wearing it, but perhaps that was Sonia’s way of reminding her: I am still here, watching over you. Sonia’s vision was to create a school for underprivileged girls in Pakistan. Her mother has carried that dream forward, building a legacy of education and hope. In that, I see so many parallels with Sana. Both girls shared the same qualities — kindness, empathy, and a heart that reached out to others. As we spoke, we realized how much our grief reflected one another. Meeting someone who understands this kind of loss is strangely validating. It reminds us that our daughters, though their time here was brief, left an indelible mark. Their presence shaped lives, and their absence continues to teach us. We also shared something else: the way death no longer phases us. Once you have lost your child, your perspective on life and death changes. It’s not that grief ever disappears — it’s that you learn to walk with it, and in some ways, it reshapes how you see everything. In my own journey, I’ve turned to EMDR therapy. My last session took me deep into Sana’s story — painful, raw, and at moments almost unbearable. Yet, in a strange way, it brought relief. Revisiting trauma doesn’t erase it, but it helps untangle the knots of fear and pain. It helps me breathe a little easier. And through it all, I feel Sana — my angel — watching over me. Just as Sonia was with her mother, Sana is with me, in the quiet, in the healing, in the love that never fades.