Sixteen Months

Sixteen Months Today marks sixteen months. Sixteen months since life changed in a way I still can’t quite believe. As I sit here in Costco, the thought keeps circling in my mind—it just can’t be. Costco was never one of Sana’s favorite places. She would only come along if I insisted, and even then, she would make the trip bearable by sharing a hot dog with Idris. So today, in her memory, here we are—eating that same hot dog. A small ritual, but one that feels like a way to keep her close. This morning, I was talking with Ritika, and we found ourselves remembering one of Sana’s signature looks. Whenever I called her “my first baby,” she’d roll her eyes, that familiar mix of irritation and affection written all over her face. It’s funny how the little things—the eye rolls, the glances, the habits—become so precious once the person is gone. These small memories, the ones that might have seemed ordinary at the time, are now the threads that hold her presence together for me. They matter more than I could have ever imagined. Sixteen months. And still, it feels like yesterday.