Her radiant smile

Sana’s smile was radiant — the kind that could light up an entire room. When she smiled, her whole face transformed, her eyes sparkling with warmth and joy. She knew it too. She was aware of the effect her smile had, though she’d often laugh or roll her eyes when I pointed it out. There were so many little things that brought out that beautiful smile — shopping, children, dogs, coffee with friends. Simple pleasures that made her heart full. I can still picture her in those moments, her laughter filling the air, her presence wrapping everyone in comfort and light. These past few weeks have been especially difficult. October was always a month of celebration — Sana’s birthday month. She was particular about birthdays, not just her own but everyone’s. She made sure we celebrated properly, that no one ever felt forgotten. Birthdays in our home were her doing — her joy. As her birthday approaches again, the ache grows sharper. This year, we received messages from her friends in Singapore, where she once worked. Many sent handwritten notes describing her kindness, her intelligence, her empathy. They wrote about how she would go out of her way to support her friends, always offering time, patience, and care. Reading their words, I was struck again by how much of her we’re still discovering — the parts of her heart she shared so freely with others. And now, as if life is testing us again, our dog Mia has been unwell. The vet says she might need her gallbladder removed — the same surgery Sana once had. The coincidence feels heavy. People sometimes wonder how a dog can mean so much, but after losing a child, every source of love becomes sacred. Mia is part of our family, a small being who fills the silence, whose warmth helps us get through the day. The thought of losing her is unbearable. Lately, I find myself wondering about God — how and why He decides the fate of everyone. If prayers are meant to reach Him, to move Him, to heal, then how do you make sense of this? I prayed for Sana. We all did. The world prayed for her. So how does one reconcile faith when the prayers go unanswered? These questions linger in my mind, without answers, without comfort. Grief does that — it makes you question everything you thought you understood about life, love, and God. Yet, through all the confusion, I return to Sana’s smile. That radiant light that refuses to fade. It reminds me of who she was — strong, kind, and full of grace — even when life tested her endlessly. And maybe that’s where I find my faith again. Not in the answers, but in the love she left behind. A love so powerful that even in her absence, it continues to guide me through the darkness.