Holding On While Letting Go: My Nani's Last Battle Her Pari – Loving My Nani Through Her Final Days
There are no words strong enough to capture what it feels like to watch someone you love fade away slowly, painfully. My nani was in the last stage of cancer, and every single day felt like I’m holding my breath, terrified that it might be her last. She has always been the heart of our home—her laughter, her prayers, her stories, and the way she would gently stroke my hair when I was sad. She made everything feel like it would be okay. And now, nothing feels okay. Cancer is cruel. It takes away so much more than just health—it steals peace, hope, and time. Some days she slept more than she’s awake. Some days the pain is too much. And yet, she still smiled at me. Still told me to eat properly. Still whispered strength into my shaking heart. Every morning I woke up afraid. Every night I go to sleep with a prayer on my lips—asking for one more day, one more moment, one more chance to say "I love you" again. It’s hard to talk about grief before the goodbye. It’s like mourning someone who’s still here. But I know others out there are living this same heartbreak. So I’m writing this not just for her—but for anyone who’s loving someone through the end. Cherish every second. Say everything you need to say. And when the time comes, let your love be louder than your fear. There’s a certain kind of pain that doesn’t come with loud cries or breaking things—it comes with quiet moments, soft prayers, and the unbearable fear of losing someone who means the world to you. That’s what every day felt like. I watched her slipping away, piece by piece. She used to call me her pari—her angel. No matter how old I got, she never stopped calling me that. Her eyes would light up when I walked into the room, even, when the pain kept her from saying much. That one word—pari—holds all the love she ever gave me. It’s who I was to her, and somehow, hearing it makes me feel safe in the middle of all that chaos. She was always the strength of our home, the one who never let anyone walk out the door without feeding them. She believed in kindness, in patience, in God. And she believed in me. But, the days feel like a countdown. I watched her sleep more than she’s awake. I saw the tiredness in her body, the weight of the illness stealing her light. And yet, she still tries to smile. She still reached for my hand. She still said “meri pari” when I sat beside her. She looked at me with hope and shining eyes. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through—loving someone while preparing to let them go. But if I’ve learned anything from her, it’s that love is stronger than fear. So I sat with her. I told her stories. I held her hand like she used to hold mine. And I prayed—every single day—for more time, for her peace, and for the strength to be her pari until the very end. But she left me. The room is empty. The pain that she'll never return can't be expressed in words. Nani wherever you are your pari is not that strong without you. It's very hard to pass a single day without you. I love you and miss you more than words can say. Hopefully we'll meet in the another world.
