23/07/2025
Today, sheâs gone. And Iâm sitting with this strange mix of sadness and gratitudeâgrateful I got to witness her life in these final days, even if I didnât know her deeply. Sometimes it only takes a few shared momentsâa smile, a quiet laugh, a memory drifting inâto feel the weight of someoneâs absence.
Iâve watched someone I care so deeply for pour his whole heart into taking care of herâshowing up, loving her, holding her through all the changes that come when life is winding down. That kind of care is beautiful, but itâs also exhausting and heavy in ways words donât always touch. I see him. I see the love and the stress, the heartbreak, the strength it takes to care for a parent as their world shifts through lifeâs hardest stages. Iâm sending him all the love, all the softness, all the space to grieve and breathe.
She loved her life, even with all the pain it heldâincluding the shadows of the Holocaustâand still, she found joy in the simple things. A chocolate croissant. A nap in the sun. A quiet room. And I hope that wherever she is now, the croissants are warm and endless, the coffee strong, and sheâs somewhere where the hard parts of life no longer reach her.
I get to see life burst into the world, and sometimes I end up here, watching it slowly slip away. Both are messy, beautiful, and gut-wrenching in their own ways. Being there for those momentsâthe first breaths and the last onesâreminds me how short all the middle parts really are, and how much they matter. .airport.sr