The Season of Remembering

The Season of Remembering Fall is beautiful—golden leaves, crisp air, and that quiet magic that settles over the world before winter arrives. But for me, it’s also a sore reminder. Sana loved fall. She loved the colors, the cozy sweaters, the pumpkin-spiced everything. This was her season—full of laughter, warmth, and life. Now, every shade of amber and red feels like a memory etched in time. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Black Friday, Christmas—they all arrive in a bittersweet procession. Each one carrying echoes of her joy, her laughter, her presence. The last time we were together as a family in Chicago was during Thanksgiving. It was freezing that year, the kind of cold that stings your cheeks and makes you laugh as you rush inside for warmth. Sana somehow convinced us to go ice skating. I can still see her—wobbly at first, then gliding with that determined smile she always wore when she wanted to master something. That image is forever frozen in my mind, as clear as the ice beneath her skates. I often wonder if there’s any part of the year untouched by her memory. Every season, every holiday, every simple joy seems tied to her in some way. It’s as if the whole world is filled with pieces of her—beautiful, but unbearably painful. Everything that once brought her joy now brings me pain. Yet I hold onto it, because letting go would mean losing the last traces of her light. So I walk through fall with a tender ache in my heart—grieving and remembering, loving and missing. For Sana, who found beauty in every falling leaf.