This beautiful Saturday morning began like many other mornings with a heart full of love and hope. Gentle rays of sunlight filtered through the windows. Their warm glow whispered hope and promise of another good day. This morning, like many others, I woke up early. But little did I know the day would bring a flood of emotions for which I was unprepared. Indeed, as the morning unfolded, my spirit was moved by the profound realities of life and death. It all became a stark reminder of the transience of our earthly journey.
I haven’t checked Facebook in weeks. But something nudged me to open it today. Unexpectedly, the first thing that popped up was a post from my friend, Natasa. I rarely see her updates, but this morning for some reason, I did. Maybe it was meant to be.
She had just (17 minutes ago) posted a tribute to her mother, a message so simple yet so profound: “Our love, our lioness, our beauty, travel peacefully into eternity… thank you for all the love, we love you to infinity.”
I stared at those words. Read them once. Then again. And again. I wanted them to mean something different, but the truth was undeniable. The weight of the message settled heavily on my heart. Mirjana was gone. Though we knew she had been fighting a brave fight, a small part of me believed, even hoped, that she had more time. But unfortunately, it seems that she did not. She was an amazing fighter in so many areas of her life. Just like my dear mother. However, her vibrant spirit, now freed from her earthly struggles, had unfortunately left this world.
The news felt like a quiet earthquake, shaking something deep inside me. It was a sad reminder of how fragile life is. And even more than that, how loss is inevitable.
As if orchestrated by fate, and before there was enough time to even catch another breath, a different post appeared in my feed. One more somber news. Another loss. Another friend. Thomas had passed away. Just like that. I learned of his fight with cancer, but for some reason, I thought he was in remission. Despite the new fundraising efforts, given his comments and other posts, there seemed to be no indication that his end could be near. But cancer had other plans. Unfortunately, it seems that he deteriorated suddenly. He was our age and a nice man. He was supposed to still be here. But, he is not. Instead, he is gone too. Just like that. Gone way too soon.
The empath in me felt the profound sadness of these losses keenly. A ripple effect of grief. Two losses, one after the other, on an otherwise peaceful, sunny morning. Both, from cancer. Life has a way of reminding us, sometimes too harshly, of its fragility.
I called. Texted. Listened. I tried to offer comfort, while waiting for the weight of their absence to settle in my own heart. Loss changes you. It carves out spaces in your soul, spaces where love used to live. And yet, love never truly leaves, does it? It lingers in the echoes of laughter, in the warmth of old memories, in the lessons they left behind.
This morning was a stark reminder: Love the people in your life, now. Cherish them while you can. Hold them close, speak your heart, and never take their presence for granted. Because one day, they’ll just be a memory, and you’ll wish you had one more moment, one more hug, one more chance to say, “I love you.”
As I sat with these thoughts, another memory surfaced in my mind. Today is March 29. On this day, my wonderful grandfather would have turned 116. He was a great man of strong convictions and great character. He was a really amazing, kind, hardworking man, that always led by strong example.
And today it also marks 49 years since his mother passed away. She died on his birthday. She was 88 years old. Isn’t that remarkable? Is there a hidden meaning in having your mom die on your birthday, I wonder? Is it a symbol of circle of life and death? Giving life and giving it away? Literally. Or passing on to a different one? She took a bite of chocolate and she was gone: just like that. Life, in all its unpredictability, weaves loss and birth, grief and joy, into an intricate, unbreakable circle.
And then, my phone, as if called by the Universe, displayed another sad memory: two years ago today, I took my mother to her oncologist. Beautifully meaningful photos we took were staring at me. Even if she was frail and tired, she was still so beautiful. She had a spark of kindness and goodness coming from her eyes and soul, despite the hard cancer battle she was fighting. She had love for people and love for life that was unmatchable. Both were indeed radiating from her presence and her smile. Eight months later, she was sadly gone. I am still devastated. Today is day 486 without her. 486 days of learning to live with an absence that will never truly be filled.
Since losing her, I’ve started noticing signs. How strange is it for a scientist to think that way? Or even perhaps stranger for some to share those thoughts here? Science or no science, some facts are undeniable: signs have truly been there. Indeed, they often appear, like some kind of signals. A hidden message. Perhaps whispers from the universe? Is my mother watching over me? Today is 486 days since she passed. Is there meaning in the number 486? Those who believe say angel numbers hold messages. In some of my searches for answers, I read that 486 signifies reassurance: You are on the right path. Let go of fear. Embrace opportunities with gratitude and open heart. Trust that you are supported.
That is exactly what I needed to hear. I just had conversations related to that topic earlier this week. And out of nowhere, reassurance seemed to arrive.
The Universe, it seems, has a celestial calendar of its own, marking days with significance often beyond our comprehension. Maybe it’s just a coincidence. Maybe it is not. But in grief, we find our own ways to hold on, to believe in something beyond the loss.
Grief, much like the ocean, moves with tides that are at times unpredictable and overwhelming. Yet in its ebb and flow, we find our grounding. We learn to swim amidst the waves of sorrow. There is a gentle strength in accepting that our human experiences are transient.
I do not have all the answers. But I do know this: Life is fleeting. Thus: Love fiercely. Stay true to your heart. And when grief comes like the tide, let yourself feel it, knowing that eventually, you’ll learn to swim again.
In this profound tapestry of emotions, perhaps the true gift lies in remembrance. To treasure those we hold dear while they walk beside us and to honor their memory when they move beyond. Today we are but tomorrow we might not be. Yet, in the remembrance of love and memory, our spirits endure.
Let us move forward with grace, heart-first, trusting that life, in all its transience, will unfold as it should: Filled with purpose and guided by everlasting love.
As someone once said, “No matter how long it has been, there are times when it suddenly becomes harder to breathe.” And yet, we go on. Because we must. Because love never really dies. Because in the end, everything will be OK. And if it’s not OK, then it’s not the end.
Jasminka Vukanovic-Criley is a hospitalist.
