A Farewell to My Massi: Remembering a Soul Beyond Words

The news of maasi passing feels unreal, as if somehow the world got it wrong. She was my aunt by name, but in heart, she was so much more—a friend, a confidante, and a piece of my soul that I never imagined would leave.

I don’t know what to feel right now. One moment, it’s like I’m standing outside myself, unable to believe this is real, and in the next, all I want to do is collapse, to shut my eyes and make the world disappear. It feels like I’m falling into a space I can’t make sense of, somewhere between disbelief and unbearable weight. I want to hibernate, to pull away from everything, as if hiding might somehow soothe the ache or dull the edges of reality.

For now, I’ll sit with this grief, let it wash over me, and hold tight to the memories she left behind, hoping they’ll carry me until I find my footing again.

From as early as I can remember, she was there, her laugh filling every corner of my childhood with warmth. She had a way of turning simple days into adventures, bringing light and laughter even on the ordinary afternoons when we just sat, talking about life. She never spoke down to me; instead, she treated me like her equal. We shared dreams and plans for the future, our hopes, and even our fears. She was the first person I talked to about my own heartaches, and she listened as if my worries were as real and big as hers. Somehow, she always knew what to say, bringing me back to myself when I felt lost.

Her life wasn’t easy. She knew heartache better than anyone I’ve known, yet I never saw her bow to it. Instead, she wore her struggles with an almost invisible grace, her smile defying the pain. She had this strength—a quiet, profound resilience—that always left me in awe. I would often think that if she could handle her battles with that much grace, then maybe I could, too. She taught me about courage without ever giving a lecture, just by being herself.

There’s something so beautiful and humbling about a person who carries pain without bitterness, someone who lives through hardships but keeps finding ways to be kind, open, and loving. That was my aunt. She was my friend who never let go, my elder who never judged, my protector who never once left me feeling alone. She was my quiet place, my place of peace.

Now that she’s gone, it feels like the world has tilted slightly off-balance, like something foundational has shifted. I keep thinking of the memories we made together, little moments that seemed ordinary then but now feel like treasures. It’s strange—somehow, the grief is so big it feels as if the world should stop, as if everything should change just because she’s not here. But life moves on around me, indifferent and unaware. That’s what hurts most, maybe. How could the world just go on, when she is no longer part of it?

I can already feel the emptiness creeping in, the gap she has left behind. But as I think of her now, I also feel a profound gratitude for the life she filled with her presence. I will miss her, yes—her laughter, her quiet strength, her calm. But more than anything, I will carry forward the love and resilience she gave me, that gentle reminder that even the most broken pieces of life can create something beautiful.

So, while my heart aches with her loss, I know I must celebrate her life. I will remember her stories, her smile, and her strength. I’ll carry them within me, hoping to honor her by living in a way that would make her proud. Thank you, dear maasi, for being my friend, my mentor, my family. You may be gone from this world, but your spirit is alive in every memory, and in every piece of who I am.