Signs of Love in the First Snow

Signs of Love in the First Snow The first flurries of snow fell this Monday morning — the kind that makes the world pause for a moment in quiet wonder. It also brought back a flood of memories. Sana loved snow; the very sight of those first flakes would make her squeal with joy, her laughter filling the room like music. This weekend, our family gathered for a celebration — Maahir and Serena’s wedding. It was a beautiful union of two families, woven together by love, hope, and shared memories. What touched me deeply was how everyone, including Serena’s parents and siblings, found their own way to honor Sana. Her presence was so strongly felt that it seemed she was right there among us — beaming with delight, watching her “BB baby brother” say his vows. Sana shared a very special bond with Serena. She once told me she saw Serena as her younger sister, and I can’t help but believe that she was smiling down on her this weekend — guiding her, blessing her, and wrapping her in invisible warmth. The day before the wedding, Serena stopped by a coffee shop. As she waited for her drink, she gave her name to the barista. There was just one other person there. When the order was ready, the barista called out, “Sana.” Serena paused — she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly — but when she picked up the cup, the name the barista mentioned was Sana. Was it a coincidence? Maybe. But knowing Sana, coffee was her little ritual, her comfort on ordinary days. It felt like her playful way of saying, “I’m here.” Later that same day, Serena wandered into a bookstore — another of Sana’s favorite places, where she could spend hours lost among words. A stranger noticed her tattoo — a delicate sun in honor of Sana — and complimented it. Another coincidence, perhaps. Or maybe just another whisper from the universe reminding us that love never really leaves; it changes form, it finds its way back to us in small, miraculous ways. This weekend, we celebrated a new beginning — the joining of two souls and two families. And yet, through every smile, every tear, and every quiet snowfall, I felt another presence among us. Sana was there — in the snowflakes, in the coffee cup, in the bookstore, and in every heartbeat that carries her memory forward. This weekend, we didn’t just gain a daughter-in-law; we gained another daughter, and a family that now carries a piece of Sana’s love too. She lives around us — always.