Portugal

Finding Sana in the People She Loved This week, we are in Portugal celebrating the wedding of Arun, one of Sana's childhood friends. The children grew up together, sharing birthdays, family gatherings, holidays, and all the ordinary moments that quietly become the foundation of lifelong friendships. As I prepared for the wedding, I knew it would be difficult. Every milestone reached by one of Sana's friends is also a reminder of the milestones she never got to experience herself. And yet, despite the ache, there was so much love. From the moment we arrived, I felt surrounded by warmth, friendship, and familiarity. There were moments when I could almost feel Sana beside me. Not in a dramatic way, but in the small, gentle ways grief sometimes allows us to feel close to those we miss. A laugh that sounded like something she would have enjoyed. A story that brought back a memory. A familiar face from her childhood. Most of all, there was Mamta. Mamta was one of Sana's favorite people in the world. Seeing her melted my heart. The moment we embraced, years of memories came flooding back. We spoke about Sana, cried for her, laughed about her, and remembered the beautiful, spirited young woman she was. There is something profoundly comforting about being with people who knew your child before grief entered your life. People who remember not just how she passed, but how she lived. People who remember her smile, her humor, her stubbornness, her dreams, and the countless moments that made her uniquely Sana. As a family, being together on the second anniversary of her passing felt strangely soothing. Not because the pain was absent, but because it was shared. Grief can feel incredibly lonely, but love has a way of gathering people together and reminding us that our memories are carried by more than one heart. At the wedding, I also met another mother who had recently lost her daughter in a devastating car accident. We found each other almost instinctively. There are conversations that only those who have lost a child can truly understand. No explanations are necessary. No attempts to fix the pain. Just an unspoken recognition of a heartbreak that changes you forever. As we shared our stories, I felt something unexpected: validation. Not validation of the pain itself, but validation that the overwhelming emotions, the flashbacks, the longing, and the endless search for meaning are part of a journey many grieving parents walk. It was a reminder that while grief feels isolating, we are not entirely alone within it. The wedding was beautiful. There were tears. There was laughter. There was celebration. And through it all, there was Sana. Not physically beside us, but woven into every conversation, every memory, every embrace, and every person who loved her. For a few precious days, surrounded by family and lifelong friends, I felt as though I carried her with me everywhere I went. And perhaps that is one of grief's greatest gifts. The people we love never truly leave the spaces they once filled. They continue to live in stories, in friendships, in traditions, and in the hearts of those who remember them. This week, in Portugal, celebrating a new beginning while honoring a profound loss, I realized that Sana's presence is not something I have to search for. She is already here. In the people she loved. And in the love they continue to share with me. ❤️