Finding Sana in My Classroom

Finding Sana in My Classroom I have recently started teaching a high school transition class, working with students with intellectual disabilities. And somehow, in the middle of this new chapter of my life, I find myself missing Sana even more. Sana had a special way of connecting with people. My nephew has special needs, and I remember how she would spend weekends taking him out for dinner. These were simple moments, but they meant so much. She made time for him, included him in her life, and never needed a special reason to show that she cared. Now, as I get to know my students, I often wonder how Sana would have connected with them. I imagine her seeing beyond labels, finding ways to make them feel included, and recognising the individuality that makes each person special. As an educator, I teach inclusion, acceptance, and the importance of seeing the person beyond the diagnosis. But Sana reminds me that inclusion is more than a concept we teach. It is the simple act of making someone feel that they belong. I wish I could tell her about my students. I wish I could share these moments with her and hear what she would say. These are the quiet, everyday losses that grief brings — the conversations that will never happen and the ordinary moments we can no longer share. Sometimes, I find traces of Sana in the work I do. It brings me comfort, but it also reminds me of how much I have lost. I am still her mother. I still want to tell her about my day, share my thoughts, and have her here to witness this part of my life. Sana, I see echoes of your kindness in the people I teach. I carry your memory into my classroom, but I wish more than anything that I could come home and tell you all about it. I miss you, more than words will ever be able to express.