Some days

I miss Sana every day. I miss her 24/7. But some days, I miss her differently. Some days, the grief feels heavier. It sits on my chest, settles into my heart, and follows me through every moment of the day. Idris will sometimes ask me, “Why today? Did something happen?” And the truth is, sometimes nothing happened. There doesn’t always have to be a reason. There are simply days when my heart is in knots. On those days, I need my tools to help me cope. One of those tools is music. Sometimes I deliberately listen to sad songs because I know they will open the floodgates. The tears come, and sometimes they come loudly. I cry because I need to cry. I let everything I have been holding inside come out. Does it make the grief disappear? No. Not even close. But somehow, after I have cried, I feel a little less overwhelmed. The pain is still there, the missing is still there, and the emptiness is still there. But I can breathe around it a little better. I used to wonder why certain days were harder. I would try to analyze what triggered me, what happened, what memory surfaced, why my emotions suddenly felt so intense. I don't do that as much anymore. I have learned that grief doesn't always need an explanation. Sometimes I just need space. Space to be alone. Space to listen to the songs that remind me of you. Space to cry. Space to let my heart say what words cannot. I don't need to fix those moments. I don't need to understand them. I don't need to make them go away. I just need to let them move through me. Because Sana, missing you is not something I can solve. It is something I carry. And on the days when that weight becomes too heavy, I have learned that it is okay to put everything else down for a little while and simply cry for my daughter. For you. For us. For everything that was, and everything that will never be. And then, when the tears finally slow down, I pick myself up again. Not because I miss you any less. But because I have learned how to carry the missing a little differently.