A letter to Sana in heaven

Dear Sana, There is something about grief that I am only beginning to understand. It doesn't just change the person who is grieving. It changes relationships. It changes the way we communicate, the way we respond to one another, the way we love and sometimes even the way we recognise one another. I wonder whether you would understand what I am trying to say. You always had such strong viewpoints about life, relationships, fairness and the way people should treat one another. You were never afraid to question things. You had your own way of looking at the world, and I often think about how much I miss those conversations with you. Your absence has changed so much. I think about your relationship with Maahir. The two of you shared something that was uniquely yours. You were not simply siblings; you were companions, confidants and an important part of each other's lives. There was a familiarity between you that didn't require explanations. You shared memories, humour, opinions and a lifetime of growing up together. I wonder what it is like for him to navigate life without that relationship in its familiar form. There are milestones, ordinary moments and little things that I imagine he still wishes he could share with you. Your absence is not just the loss of a sister. It is the loss of someone who knew his history, understood his world and had a place in his life that nobody else can occupy. And then there is your father and me. We have both lost the same daughter, but grief does not necessarily make two people grieve in the same way. Sometimes it brings people closer; sometimes it creates distances that neither knows how to bridge. We are trying to navigate a life that neither of us imagined we would have to live. I have also realised that grief changes the way we relate to our families and even to ourselves. We become more sensitive, sometimes less patient, sometimes withdrawn. Things that once seemed insignificant can suddenly feel overwhelming. We may expect others to understand what we cannot articulate ourselves. Perhaps this is one of the cruellest things about losing someone we love: the loss doesn't happen in isolation. It ripples through every relationship that person touched. I miss your presence in our family. I miss your opinions, your observations, your ability to challenge a conversation and make us look at something differently. I miss the person who could make us laugh, disagree with us and remind us that there was always another perspective. I miss having you as the person I could talk to about everything. I wish you could see how much your life continues to influence ours. Your values, your compassion, your advocacy for mental health, equality and women's rights are still part of the conversations I have with myself. You may no longer be physically here to express your viewpoints, but they have not disappeared. I am learning that grief is not simply about learning to live without someone. It is about learning to live with the changes their absence brings to every relationship. We are all finding our way, sometimes together and sometimes separately. I hope that somewhere, in the way we continue to love one another, we are carrying forward a little of what you brought into this family. I miss you, Sana. Not just as my daughter, but as the person you were, the voice you brought into our lives and the relationships that were richer because you were part of them. Always your Mum