Aida Zabidi
It feels strange dealing with the aftermath of a death. 

There is an emptiness, a void at certain moments that you’re not exactly sure how to address. 

We identified ourselves as the girlies, a nickname coined lovingly by Dd one day and one that always stuck through these few years – we would meet up on a regular basis to have dinners and celebrate each other’s events. I always identify with the group, and it seems strange that one of our members has already passed on and is greatly missed. 

There is that potential awkwardness when someone asks, where’s everyone else – and I still struggle to find that balance between the transition of wanting to remember Sarah, and learning to move on without her. 

I don’t want to forget her lightheartedness, her laughter, the jokes she used to banter between the girls – but it cannot be something that I cling on too tightly to. There are too many memories which she was a part of, but knowing that she will never again be there to celebrate birthdays, or see us get married, or for us to grow old together – that cannot be something I must let go for fear of grief. 

How does one find that balance between remembrance and letting go? 

The memories of you come at unexpected moments - looking at certain furniture, a flash of colour, a snippet of a song that you used to karaoke to.

I can only hope that times eases us through, each of us with our own ways of coping, and that we deal with it the best we can. 

Dear Sarah, you really are missed.
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