The Photographs That Hold a Life

The Photographs That Hold a Life It’s Sana’s birthday week, and this photograph feels especially precious. When it was taken, it was simply an ordinary evening. The three of us standing together, smiling, surrounded by city lights. Nothing about that moment told us that one day this photograph would become something I would look at differently—with a mixture of love, gratitude and longing. That is the strange thing about grief. We never know which ordinary moments will become sacred. Looking at Sana in this photograph, I find myself noticing all the little things—the way she is standing, her smile, the ease in her face. I wish I could step back into that evening for just a few minutes. Hear what we were talking about. Remember what made us laugh. Feel the comfort of knowing there would be more evenings like this. There is a painful question grief keeps bringing with it: **How can someone be so present in a photograph and yet no longer be here?** But this birthday week, I don't want to remember only the ending of Sana's life. I want to remember the middle—the dinners, the laughter, the conversations, the books, the travels, the people she loved, and the kindness she carried with her. Her 28 years were far too short, but they were full of meaning, relationships and love. Recently, Maahir wrote a beautiful note about how grateful he was that he had us living close to him. I responded, **“Sana is the happiest knowing we are together.”** And I truly believe that. She loved her family. She loved seeing the people she cared about together. I can imagine her looking at us now and being happy that, despite everything, we continue to show up for one another. Perhaps that is one of the things Sana left behind for us—the reminder that **being together is never ordinary.** Take the photograph. Stay a little longer. Laugh a little louder. Tell the people you love that you love them. Because one day, the ordinary moment may become the photograph you return to when you need to feel close to someone you can no longer touch. This week, I will celebrate Sana by remembering not only what we lost, but everything she gave us. Her birthday week will always be about her life, her love, and the beautiful traces she continues to leave in ours.