In Loving Memory of My Father
Unseasonal weather sweeps in again, echoing the unpredictability of life—rain and cold, sunshine and warmth, then rain once more. October returns, inviting reflection, a quiet prompt to revisit the depth of emotions you have held for so long. And so, I find myself here once again.
October.
You are a month that carries weight and meaning, deceptive in your arrival, yet forceful in memory.
Pinktober
Each year, you turn pink in recognition of Breast Cancer Awareness Month—a bright, almost innocent colour for something so brutal. I struggle with the commercialisation of “Pink Month,” yet my hate for breast cancer runs far deeper. I think of Jodie’s battle—her third one—and how we all rallied around her. But cancer has no mercy, and Jodie left us in January, a mere three months after October’s pink ribbon campaign. Cancer doesn’t wear innocence; it’s a relentless thief of identities and lives.
Bye Bye Baby
Each October, I also feel the loss of you—my lost children. You are part of the silent grief that October holds for so many. Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day serves as a quiet beacon, a day to hold space for all the unspoken dreams and missed moments. October witnessed my second child slipping away just days before that remembrance day. I became part of those October mourners, a mother carrying invisible losses.
Daddy, I Miss You
And then, my father. October claimed him on the eve of All Saints’ Day. His last day lingers in my memory, as life and death collided within the same moment. Children’s voices echoed through the street below, dressed as ghosts and goblins, as if to honour Halloween’s dance with the spirit world. I was by his side, holding onto his final breaths, while the world outside continued, unaware.
October, you are both gentle and cruel, dressed in the duality of light and shadow. Each year, you return as a mirror, reflecting life’s beauty and its fragility. You’ve taught me the weight of each memory, the dual nature of love and loss. I’ve walked through these moments—bruised, battered, but finding meaning in each step. And now, as I look back, I see this piece as an evolution—a journey of love, loss, and remembrance that’s shaped my life’s path.
So now, October, with everything you’ve shown me, please teach me how to live. Show me how to carry forward all that love and loss, all that life has held. Show me how to live a life that’s both a tribute to the past and a celebration of the days yet to come.
October, Show Me How to Live
This short film is an adaptation of my original blog post.
Trigger Warning: Please note, this short film contains graphic language and sensitive themes, including baby and pregnancy loss, breast cancer, and the loss of a parent. Some visuals—such as depictions of foetuses, breastfeeding, and clowns—may be triggering or unsettling to some viewers. Viewer discretion is advised.
If you are grieving, be gentle with yourself. May you find moments of recognition and solace here, and may we all, in our own way, learn from the lessons that love and loss leave behind.
Blessings & Love,
Sasha.
Watch or Listen to October, Show Me How to Live here: