A Sacred Thread: The Love That Waits, Misses, and Returns
Stories and reflections on the quiet powerful of Human Connection
We Were Never Meant to Do This Alone
A Letter on Becoming & Connection
Before we ever draw breath, we are already entangled in relationship
Some threads stretch across oceans. But the ones that matter — they always find their way back home.
Dear Kindred Hearts, SS Community and chosen Family~
Even in the quiet sanctuary of the Womb, Connection Begins.
A heartbeat — not yet ours — pulses in harmony, echoing the rhythm of another.
It is the body that carries us,
holds us,
nourishes us into becoming.
This silent exchange —
this sacred tether —
becomes our first experience of trust.
No words.
No explanations.
Only presence.
Only warmth.
Yesterday’s post introduced A Sacred Thread — Before We Were Born, We Belong
that quiet, unseen cord that binds us —
then today’s story is a tender knot along that thread.
Because human connection isn’t always loud.
It doesn’t need grand moments or bright declarations.
It is often stitched into the everyday…
In soft whispers,
in long pauses,
in the way a child waits —
without asking.
We’re born into some connections.
And then… there are the ones we grow gently into — moment by moment, hug by hug, breath by breath.
We don’t always see them forming.
But one day, we feel their absence — like the stillness when the music stops.
That’s when we know:
We’ve been wrapped in something sacred all along.
If you missed yesterday’s post on the deeper significance of human connection and how the tiniest threads weave the most enduring bonds, you can read it here.
Just as Sima’s return
Reminded me of the quiet threads that tie us together, that story explores how the subtle moments — the ones we often overlook — carry the most weight.
We often forget that these threads — with family, loved ones, or even within ourselves — are what hold us steady.
They carry us through the hardest times.
Sometimes, they’re the reason we survive.
And just like today’s story, where love whispered instead of roared, true connection doesn't need volume to be felt.
When our helper Sima left for her home in Indonesia on April 25,
I imagined only joy — the joy of reuniting with her daughter, who just turned eight.
I imagined the ache she carried, being apart for more than two years.
I told her to enjoy every moment, to rest deeply, to be filled up again.
But just hours after she left, I witnessed something that made me stop still.
Because Shivanyu — our little one — held onto her in his own quiet way.
No tears. No tantrums. Just… questions.
Soft ones. Spread out over days.
That night, my baby boy was lying on his bed, staring into the dark.
Silent.
Eyes fixed on the door.
“What are you looking for?” I asked gently.
He whispered.
He whispered them into the air like prayer:
“Where is Sima?”
“Sima at Jie Jie's house?”
“Sima at home waiting for Shivanyu?”
We answered him softly. He would nod, quietly.
No demands. No distress. Just… patience.
He somehow knew.
Little Sunshine said, “Sima is at Jie Jie’s house.”
I didn’t deny it. I just gently shifted the conversation.
But from then on, each day became a quiet echo of his longing:
First Friday:
After school pickup, he asked, “Sima waiting for me at home?”
The next Thursday:
“Is Sima coming home today?”
Second Friday:
He woke up and said, “Sima coming home tomorrow.”
And then…
Saturday, two long weeks later:
He opened his eyes and whispered, “Sima coming home today.”
No drama. No theatrics.
Just the softest grief — pure, unfiltered, and true.
In that moment, I knew:
This wasn’t just routine.
This wasn’t just attachment.
This was home. This was love.
Sima finally returned on Saturday, May 10, she was the one who broke.
She stepped inside, and we said, “Sima’s home.”
Shivanyu didn’t run into her arms.
He froze.
Looked.
Paused.
Then turned to me… and buried his head in my chest.
He needed a moment.
And then — only then — he walked to her.
Hugged her.
And whispered the words that melted us all:
“I… miss… you.”
Sima crouched down. Clutched him close. Tears welled in her eyes.
That was it. That was everything.
Three small words, holding the entire weight of his trust, his memory, his love.
It wasn’t just a reunion.
It was a thread retying itself.
A sacred connection mending — right in front of us.
She napped beside him that afternoon, like she always had.
And the house felt whole again.
My first letter was about longing for connection,
This one is about the beauty of returning to it.
Human connection isn’t reserved for lovers or friends.
It’s in the bond between a child and his world.
And how safe that world feels… when the people he loves return.
Three days after Sima’s returned,
something shifted inside her.
Not quiet tears — but the kind that rise from a deeper place, beyond words.
I had just came home from work.
I rushed over. “What happened? Is everything okay back home?”
Through broken breaths, she said:
“I miss baby boy. I miss him.
I’m scared… I can’t see him.”
She had only been gone for two weeks.
Yet something inside her had unraveled.
“I sleep alone there,” she said.
“I’m used to sleeping beside him…
I miss baby boy.”
Her family told her to stay longer.
“Just two weeks. Spend time with your child.”
But her heart had already returned.
Because love isn’t bound by blood.
Because home isn’t always where we were born.
Sometimes… it’s where your soul rests easiest.
This is what A Sacred Thread means to me.
It’s not loud.
It doesn’t scream for attention.
It waits.
It misses.
It returns.
In whispers at the door.
In quiet pauses between sentences.
In the small, sacred ways we show up for each other.
This space — this newsletter — is a soft place to land.
For all of us who feel deeply.
For those carrying tenderness, holding memory, honouring invisible threads that tie us across distance and difference.
And today, I’m quietly proud to share something small but heartfelt — a new logo.
Soft. Earthy. Warm.
A visual symbol of the threads we’re weaving here, together.
Every story you read… every feeling you recognize…
is a stitch in this living tapestry.
Thank you for reading today’s piece. May it remind you of the sacred threads that hold your heart to others.
Whether you're a parent, a caretaker, or someone who cherishes real human stories — may this be a gentle reminder:
Even the smallest moments are sacred threads.
A Thread Between Us
A bed once shared, a laugh once heard,
A whispered hug, a softened word.
Though time may pass, and miles may grow,
The heart remembers where love flows.
No blood, no name can quite define,
This quiet bond that feels divine.
It’s not goodbye — it’s just delay,
A sacred thread won’t drift away.
With the quietest warmth,
And a heart still learning,
Celest Yan & Shivanyu ‘Little Sunshine’
Writer | Mother | Threadbearer
(A Sacred Thread)
Soft Closing
If this story stirred something in you — a memory, a person, a moment — I’d love for you to share it.
*Little Sunshine Letters was born from heartbreak and the softness that followed.
*It’s for mothers without maps.
*For souls who long to heal — not by fixing, but by feeling.
Your words become part of the thread too.
If you know someone whose heart needs this gentle reminder, forward this letter.
Let’s keep the thread growing.
Write to me.
Tell me about:
* The connection that softened you.
* The grief that reshaped you.
* The day you held everything — and stayed kind.
Your story matters. Your words belong here.
Send your reflections, poems, or moments to: celestyan.substack.com
Because this isn’t just a newsletter.
It’s a circle.
And in this circle, silence is sacred — and so is your voice.
Support This Space of Softness and Truth
If this letter held you — even for a moment — and you’d like to give back:
Become a monthly supporter on Substack.
Your support helps keep this space alive, as I continue writing while raising my Little Sunshine.
Thank you for believing in soft beginnings.
My First Book: A Mother’s Unseen Battle
A raw, honest memoir for anyone walking silent roads — through motherhood, grief, and healing.
Born from exhaustion, heartbreak, and still showing up.
Available on Kindle: A Mother’s Unseen Battle
Launch Price: May 28 – June 3, 2025
Free Download Days: June 18 – 22, 2025
Save the date. Or gift it to someone walking a quiet road alone.
One Last Whisper
We were never meant to do life alone.
And here — you don’t have to.
Write With Me
Have a story on connection, motherhood, or healing?
Write to me.
Your voice belongs here.
Together, we remind each other:
There is a sacred thread between us. And it has never let go.
Let me know when you post it — I'd love to cheer you on.
If you missed yesterday’s post on the deeper significance of human connection and how the tiniest threads weave the most enduring bonds, you can read it here.
Just as Sima’s return reminded me of the quiet threads that tie us together, that story explores how the subtle moments — the ones we often overlook — carry the most weight.
This reflection touches something primal and tender: the truth that connection begins before we ever speak, before we even know who we are. It reminds us that the most meaningful bonds aren’t forged through effort or explanation, but through presence and quiet, shared becoming. That first pulse, that silent tether in the womb, stays with us. It’s the blueprint for trust, not built on words, but on the feeling of being held. And even across oceans, that kind of thread never forgets where home is.
I love how this holds the mystery of becoming with such reverence. Connection really does begin before we can even name it. Before thought, there is rhythm. Before language, there is love.