What losing my 22 years old niece, Amna, has reminded me about love, grief and faith?

I wanted to add a have photo of Amna but I couldn’t. So here is a photo of some friends enjoying a beautiful sunset from my photo album. Netherlands, June 2019

A few days ago, as I was walking to the station after Iftar at a friend’s house, I checked my phone and saw 30+ notifications from my family. I just knew something was wrong. So I called my mother, and she told me that one of my nieces (my cousin’s daughter), Amna, had passed away in a road accident. I sat down at the station to process the shock and grief. Amna and I had less than ten years of the age gap. My first thought hearing the news was that how can she die? Her story is still incomplete; she had yet to live her dreams. She was only 22 years old; she was young and ambitious. She was just getting started with life. 

I thought about her last few moments during the accident and all the fears she must have gone through. Then, I thought about the last time I saw her in Pakistan in January 2021 at a big family gathering; we sat at the same table for lunch. As she told me about her studies and career, I remember thinking she was very courageous for her age. I felt so proud of who she was and how she carried herself in the world. She was empathetic and caring towards everyone around her. She was spirited and funny, yet she had a sense of groundedness in her personality as if she was in deep thoughts.

Eventually, I made it back home from the station, and the grief and sorrow for Amna have been like a slow-burning candle in my heart for the past few days. Here are a few of the things I have been thinking about recently. 

On love and appreciation

The more I thought about Amna, the more I thought about how her sisters must be processing the grief. And then I started thinking about what wonderful human beings her two sisters are. That got me thinking about my other nieces and nephews. Some are funnier than others, some kinder than others, a few highly ambitious, some have a heart so soft they will cry for an injured bird. Some are so stylish, giving fashion icons a run for their career. Some are so spiritual; they want to talk about Divine love and God. However, they are all so exceptional in their own ways. 

With Amna’s passing, I have come to recognise (yet again) that we should see the specialness of everyone when they are around and always remember to recognise, appreciate and vocalise it. It’s such a cliche, but it’s undoubtedly true.  

On grief and sorrow

Every loss is different, and so is every grief. Personally, grief feels like the love I didn’t get to give or receive, like a longing to experience that person a little longer. Every human being feels the same emotion (and even the same situation) differently. The death of the same loved one might feel differently to two different individuals. Amna’s mother and father will feel and process their loss in their own ways. It would take a different course on her two sisters and her brother. Her friends, cousins, uncles and aunties would handle it differently; some might focus on supporting Amna’s family, and others might just be sitting with their own emotions. 

Grief is a process; it takes months, sometimes years and even an entire lifetime (for parents to lose a child) to go through the grief. Grief is not linear. It comes and goes in waves; people are likely to have good days and then slip back into bad days while grieving. So this is just a reminder that the best way to honour someone’s grief is to allow them to process it the way they choose. 

On incomplete stories and faith

Death is inevitable and a natural process. However, an older person’s death is more sufferable by humans than a young person’s death. I think it’s because the more years someone has lived, the more stages of life they got to experience. For example, getting to know yourself better, discovering new perspectives, having kids and watching them grow up, being able to love nephews, nieces and grandkids, celebrating decade birthdays (30, 40, 50, 60 and if you’re lucky enough, even more), travelling, checking off your bucket lists, living in different cities, accomplishing those career goals.

Amna’s death at a young age made me feel like her story is incomplete. I silently wished she had a chance to live more stages of her life, whatever she preferred those stages to be. 

During such moments, I focused my thinking on her impact on the world. I am not talking about her impact by “doing” all the amazing things (and she did quite a lot in those 22 years). Instead, I am talking about her impact on our lives by “being” herself. She filled our hearts with joy with love, and she made this world a more wholesome place with her sense of genuine care for everyone.

So even though it hurts to think Amna (and people who die young) don’t get to live so many stages of life, let’s take solace in knowing that she left this world a better place by just being herself.