by As another anniversary of Uzma’s death rolls around, I expect to get texts and messages from people who loved her saying some variant of, “Thinking about you on this difficult day.”
That they care to remember shows me how much they still love her and miss her.
There are many in that group whom I have never met or spoken to. And I hear from most of them only at this time of the year. That they still reach out to me shows how much they care about what — and who — mattered to Uzma.
If that’s not love, I don’t know what is. And I genuinely look forward to those messages.
I have to admit, though, that Uzma’s anniversary is no longer particularly hard for us. It’s not because we love her less than the friends and family who mark this day. It’s because her absence is not something that shows up only once a year.
Early on, her loss felt like an earthquake. Some aftershocks hit us out of the blue. Others, we had time to brace for — like her anniversary, the first few years. Still, every one of them would rattle us to our cores.
Over time, Uzma’s absence stopped shaking us. Because it went from recurring tremors to being more like gravity.
Gravity is a constant. Unremarkable. Essential. We don’t wake up thinking about it, but every step we take is shaped by it.
Uzma’s absence isn’t something we visit on her anniversary. It’s a unique thread woven into the fabric of our lives. That fabric wouldn’t exist without her thread.
We don’t think about her on any particular day.
And we don’t not think about her on any particular day either.
It’s a strange experience — one that still leaves me at a loss for words.
And like gravity, her absence shows up in ordinary ways.
In the way we think and feel.
In the way we show up for friends.
In the kids’ mannerisms and interests.
In how I make decisions.
In these seven years, we have made many memories without her.
Millions of mundane ones — changing interests, evolving friendships, small daily routines that quietly build new parts of a life — like an addition to a house.
Think also of school events and social events.
Pick-ups and drop-offs.
Classes considered and chosen.
New restaurants dined at, new movies seen, new music heard.
She is also missing from many striking memories.
A global pandemic survived.
Road trips and vacations enjoyed.
Milestones crossed.
Conversations about Uzma come up unexpectedly as we make new memories. But when we remember those new memories themselves, she isn’t in the scenes. Instead, our memory of her is. She isn’t present as a character. But always present as context.
When people text or message to say they’re thinking of us today, I welcome it.
I don’t experience it as reopening a wound.
I experience it as a reminder of how wide Uzma’s circle still is.
And how her life continues to ripple through the lives of all who loved her.
That kind of love is always worth acknowledging.
And being grateful for.
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