Stories for Saab: How is it already 2 years?

Dear Saab, 

It feels like I just blinked and somehow, we’re here—another August, another reminder of one of the many days my world was turned upside down. Time has moved so strangely since then. Some days feel like they last forever, others pass by in a blur. And yet, it’s been two whole years since I last held you in my arms.

Two years since August 14, 2023—the last time I heard you call me Mommy, the last time I saw you smile, the last time I talked to you and you responded to me, the last time you were "well." That day has become etched into my soul. It was the beginning of what would be 57 grueling, exhausting, hope-filled days of fighting for your life. The start of a supposed another chapter in our long battle against your disease, which you had bravely faced for six years.

We were full of hope. We believed—we had to believe—that this time, you would be okay. That you’d finally be free from the pain. That we’d get our miracle.

But it didn't happen. Fate, again, was not on our side.

Now, August has become oddly memorable. A month that used to be just another stretch of days on the calendar now carries so much weight. It's a quiet, painful countdown to the day everything changed. I didn’t expect to hate a month, but I do. I hate August. I hate how it reminds me of the days I was slowly losing you.

Yet, even in the midst of my hatred, I hold on to love.

Because in those last days, even when your body was failing, your spirit still shone so bright. You gave me memories that are both beautiful and heartbreaking. I still hear your voice in the quiet moments. I still feel your hands wrapped around mine. I still see your bravery and courage when I close my eyes. I still feel your heart beating next to mine.

The ache in my heart hasn’t dulled. I still hurt—as if it all happened just yesterday. And I don’t think that pain will ever fully go away. But I'm learning, slowly, to carry it with grace. Because you have a baby sister now—one who will grow up hearing stories about you, her incredible big sister who came before her. One who deserves all the love and joy I still have to give. And your daddy, who carries his own silent grief, still needs me too.

So, I keep going. I will keep going.

For them.

For you.

For the promise that even in loss, love remains.

August will always break my heart. But it will also always remind me of the fiercest love I’ve ever known.

We miss you every day, anak.

Thank you for choosing me to be your mommy.

Please wait for me. When it's my time, please run towards me.

And when that time comes, I will never let go.