The Hugs We Leave Behind

The Hugs We Leave Behind I miss your hugs, Sana. And lately, I have found myself missing my mother’s touch too—the simple comfort of being held, the warmth of a hand, the feeling that for a moment, everything was okay. Sana lived to hug. She had this incredible capacity for love, and she gave it so freely. She was generous to a different level—not just with things, but with herself, her time, her kindness, her attention, and her heart. She made people feel loved. My mother was much the same. Gentle. Sweet. Giving. She carried a quiet warmth that became part of the fabric of our family. Both of them had a way of giving without keeping score. And now, with both of them gone, I find myself thinking about how fragile this journey called life really is. We spend so much of our lives planning for tomorrow, believing there will always be more time. More conversations. More hugs. More ordinary days that we assume will simply continue. But we don't know when the journey will end. What we do know is that we leave something behind. A legacy. Someone recently said something about Sana that has stayed with me: **she was able to leave a legacy behind even though she had a short life.** That is so true. Her life was not measured only by the number of years she had. It was measured by the love she gave, the people she touched, the causes she cared about, the kindness she showed, and the memories she created. Perhaps that is what a meaningful life really is. Not how long we are here, but what remains of us when we leave. A hug remembered. A kindness carried forward. A lesson someone still remembers. A person who became better because they knew us. My mother and Sana both remind me of that now. Their physical presence is gone, and I ache for the things I can no longer have—their hugs, their touch, their voices, their ordinary presence in my life. But love has a strange way of refusing to disappear. It becomes memory. It becomes legacy. It becomes the way we live. And perhaps that is how we continue to carry the people we have lost—with every act of generosity, every gentle touch, every moment of kindness, and every person we make feel loved. Life is a journey. We don't know when ours will end. But we can choose what we leave behind. Sana left love. My mother left love. And I hope that, in some small way, I can carry that legacy forward.