I Exist Somewhere Between the Pain and the Joy

I read something on Facebook recently that felt like it was written just for me, a line that perfectly maps the strange, sad country I now live in. It said: **"I exist somewhere between the pain of your death and the joy of your life." This is my space now, the only place I can truly be. Sana would have been **30 this year**, a milestone she was so excited to celebrate. Her birthday this year was a prime example of living that quote. It was a day woven through with a heavy, confusing nostalgia. The phone didn't stop ringing, and the messages kept pouring in—but they weren't for her anymore; they were for *me*, the heartbroken custodian of her memory. In the past, she was the one receiving the calls, the love, the well wishes. It felt surreal and entirely backwards. At work, my focus was shattered. Her name, her face, her memory—that was the only thing my mind would allow. My nephew Danny, who had an amazing bond with Sana and called her his favourite cousin, brought a different kind of heartbreak when he asked my brother, **“When will she come back?”When my brother explained that she’s "an angel in heaven," Danny was just saddened. I understand that sadness. "Heaven " is this grand, sweeping description of the ultimate unknown, a concept we cling to to try and soften the finality. Perhaps, in a way, it’s a way we console ourselves more than the children. Then there was her friend, the one who organized the beautiful fundraiser for her 30th birthday. She told me she truly believes Sana is watching over us, and I needed to hear that. She also shared a sweet memory: Sana's fierce love for **Ronald Dahl**. She could devour the entire series in a week, completely lost in those imaginative worlds. In a twist that felt like a little birthday wink from the universe, her friend mentioned a recent announcement in Singapore that one of those books will be turned into a play, airing next year. These moments—the phone calls, Danny’s heartbreaking question, the memory of Ronald Dahl—these are the glimmers of the joy of her life peeking through the raw **pain of her death**. They are the signs that her light hasn't gone out, but has simply dispersed into the world around us. And it's in those moments, suspended between what was and what will never be again, that I find myself living out the truth of that quote every single day.