The message was simple, yet it carried the weight of a lifetime of devotion. It felt like she was still with us, gently guiding us even in her absence.
In that moment, our grief turned into something else. My sister pressed the paper against her chest, tears falling down her cheeks, while I stood frozen, torn between sorrow and gratitude.
That fragile note was more than a message—it was proof that though she was gone, her love had never left us. Whenever the pain became unbearable in the days that followed, we unfolded her words again, letting her comfort ease the heaviness of loss.
With time, her note became a compass. It urged us to find joy in ordinary days, to lean on each other whenever life felt overwhelming, and to keep moving forward with courage.
Now, when I see her handwriting or touch one of her keepsakes, I don’t just feel the emptiness of her absence—I feel her presence urging me to live bravely, laugh often, and treasure every single day. Her last words were not a farewell, but a promise: that love, once given, continues to guide us far beyond goodbye.
