Remembering Sana: The Many Ways We Keep Her Close

Remembering Sana: The Many Ways We Keep Her Close Today, Fatema visited Sana's resting place in New Jersey and sent me photographs from the cemetery. As much as I know, intellectually, that Sana is gone, those images brought back a wave of emotions I was not prepared for. In an instant, I felt transported back in time—to the days when her absence still seemed impossible to comprehend. Grief is a strange companion. It does not move in a straight line. It arrives in fragments, in photographs, in memories, in places, and in moments when you least expect it. Every part of this journey has been marked by remembrance. Whether through conversations, stories, or quiet reflections, Sana has been present in every step. There are moments when reality settles in, only to drift away again. It is as though my heart accepts her loss in small pieces, never all at once. One part of me finds comfort in knowing that she no longer has to suffer. That thought brings a measure of peace. Yet another part of me continues to wrestle with the question of why. How can someone so loved, so kind, and so deeply woven into the lives of others simply no longer be here? What continues to amaze me is how many lives Sana touched. Recently, her dear friend Mishtea shared that she would like to place a plaque in Sana's honour at one of the schools in Cambodia through the Caring for Cambodia project, a cause that Sana cared deeply about. The thought is beautiful. Perhaps it will be placed near an early childhood classroom, reflecting not only her passion for education but also her love of books, learning, and nurturing young minds. There are so many ways to remember her. Through schools, through plaques, through stories, through acts of kindness, through the people she inspired, and through the lives she changed. Her legacy continues to grow in places she cared about and in the hearts of those who loved her. And yet, despite all of these meaningful tributes, there remains an ache that none of them can fully soothe. The unbearable pain of missing her still lives in my heart. The memorials matter. The remembrance matters. The legacy matters. But they exist alongside a grief that remains profound and deeply personal. Perhaps that is what love looks like after loss. We build monuments, we tell stories, we continue the work that mattered to those we have lost—not because it lessens the pain, but because it allows their light to continue shining in a world that feels dimmer without them. Sana's memory lives on in countless ways. And while my heart still struggles to understand her absence, I am grateful that so many people continue to carry her with them. Every act of remembrance is a reminder that her life mattered, that her kindness left an imprint, and that she will never be forgotten.