How Can I Be Grateful

How Can I Be Grateful Gratitude is a word I have used often throughout my life. We are taught to look for the things we have, to appreciate the people around us, and to be grateful for the blessings in our lives. But grief has made me question the word *gratitude* in a way I never expected. What does gratitude mean when you have lost a child? Should I feel grateful that I had Sana in my life? Of course I do. I am endlessly grateful for every moment, every memory, every laugh, every conversation, every little piece of her that remains with me. But am I grateful for what happened to her? No. And I don't think I should have to be. I am grateful for the love she gave us. I am grateful for the people who loved her. I am grateful that she experienced friendships that were genuine and unconditional. I am grateful for the memories that I will carry for the rest of my life. But there is no gratitude for losing her. There is no way to make that loss meaningful enough that I should somehow feel thankful for it. There are days when people talk about finding gratitude in tragedy, and I struggle with that. Because how can I be grateful when the person I would be most grateful to have beside me is no longer here? Grief has taught me that two truths can exist at the same time. I can be grateful for having had Sana and devastated that I lost her. I can appreciate the life she lived and still be angry that her life ended. I can cherish every memory and wish with every part of me that I could make another one. I can feel gratitude for my family while feeling an unbearable emptiness because one member is missing. Perhaps that is the problem with the expectation that grief should eventually lead us to gratitude. Sometimes grief doesn't need to be transformed into something beautiful. Sometimes loss is simply loss. I don't need to find a lesson in Sana's death. I don't need to be grateful for the pain. I don't need to pretend that losing my child was somehow a blessing because it changed me. It changed me, yes. But I would give anything to have been changed in another way—to have grown older with Sana, to have watched her life unfold, to have shared ordinary days that I once took for granted. So I will continue to practice gratitude, but on my own terms. I will be grateful for Sana. For her laughter. For her kindness. For her friendships. For her beautiful heart. For the years we were given. For every memory that grief cannot take away. But I will never be grateful that she died. And perhaps that is okay. Because loving Sana means loving the whole truth of her story—not trying to soften the ending so that it becomes easier for other people to understand. I lost my child. How can I be grateful for that? I can't. And I don't have to be.