Triggers

When Celebrations Carry Grief Celebrations have become the moments when my grief peaks. Yesterday was Serena’s birthday. She has always been incredibly thoughtful about gifts—the kind of person who plans, notices details, and makes people feel seen. Watching her reminded me of something I have lost since Sana’s passing. That thoughtful, intentional touch. I found myself thinking that if Sana were here, she would have already had a gift sorted, probably weeks in advance, filled with meaning and care. These are the moments when absence feels loud. Right now, I feel like I am living in perpetual grief. Every morning begins the same way—calling Mumbai to check on my mom. Each call takes me back in time to when Sana was unwell. Back then, every day brought a new development, new uncertainty, new fear. I lived in a constant state of panic. And now, I feel those same emotions returning. Some days my mom sounds fine. Other days, she doesn’t. But what remains constant is how my body reacts. My heart pounds. Sleep becomes impossible. My mind begins to spiral into possibilities I cannot control. It feels painfully familiar, like grief and trauma have memorized this pattern and know exactly how to replay it. I have been going to therapy, and I am grateful for it. But therapy is not a magic wand. It does not erase pain or undo trauma. What it does is help me understand how to cope. It teaches me how to recognize triggers and, sometimes, how to disengage from them—whether they appear at home, at work, or in everyday life. Because triggers have a way of pulling you into a downward spiral before you even realize what is happening. There was a time when I used to ask myself if this would ever get better. If grief would soften. If trauma would loosen its hold. But right now, I find myself in a different space. Not hopeless, but not searching for answers either. Just accepting. Accepting that grief may always be a part of me. Accepting that some days will feel heavier than others. Accepting that healing may not mean moving on, but learning to live alongside the pain. And for now, that acceptance feels like the only way forward.