Every Minute, Every Memory

Every Minute, Every Memory Every minute of my life now feels like it’s contributed to her memory. Yesterday, we went for brunch with Maahir and Serena. Brunch was always one of Sana’s favorite things, especially on Sundays. She had a gift for finding the most charming, tucked-away places that served the best food. As soon as I looked at the menu, I thought of her. I could almost hear her voice and see her smile. I knew instantly what she would have ordered—apple cinnamon waffles. It was so very Sana, her way of savoring the sweet, simple joys of life. And then today brings another memory, one etched far deeper. September 29th. The day we discovered, when she was just two years old, that Sana had a hole in her heart. That morning, she went in for open-heart surgery at Stanford—a five-hour procedure on my baby. I can still feel the weight of that day, the fear, the waiting, the hope. But even then, Sana’s resilience and courage amazed us all. She refused to use the bedpan after surgery and insisted on walking to the bathroom. And she did. By day three, she was released to come home, her spirit unbroken. Every year since, I have remembered this day with gratitude, thinking, She’s okay. The surgery worked. We made it through. This year, I can’t say that anymore. Sana was always such a fighter. God tested her again and again, and each time she rose with strength and grace that left us in awe. But this last test—this one she could not overcome. She finally succumbed, and the absence she leaves is beyond words. Still, even in this pain, I hold onto her courage, her resilience, her love for life’s small joys. She remains my guiding light, my reminder of strength.