It’s been a week since you left us. We miss you terribly. They say it gets easier over time, but this is still not getting any easier. You battled illness bravely and silently. You kept your bright smile despite all the pain. Then it was time, and it was God’s will. You left a void in our hearts that will never be filled.
People came for your funeral from everywhere, evidence of your kindness that extended far beyond our family and town. The line to enter the majlis was so long we had to organize people into a zig-zagging queue that stretched outside for hundreds of meters. I was helping to organize the line when someone tapped me on the shoulder to ask: “Are you Ahmed, the guy who studied pharmacy then decided to become a journalist?” I said yes. “Dr. Sadek was very proud of you. He always talked about you,” he said.
That made me happy, but also broke my heart. It made me happy because it was seeing your old Mahasen house room, full of books and stacks of newspapers, that inspired my interest in reading and writing at such a young age. It broke my heart because, even though we didn’t always see eye-to-eye on everything, there was all these debates I still wanted to have with you about life, politics and football.
Last time I saw you was at your son’s wedding. You laughed, you danced, you insisted on everyone to have a good time. But there was a moment when you stopped to lean against a column in that shiny marble hall. You paused and looked wistfully at the rest of us, as if you were saying goodbye without saying anything. Don’t even think about it, a denying voice inside me said.
Gone too soon, khali. Gone too soon. Rest in peace.
Sneak peek at the new @glowbistro branch rooftop ahead of its grand opening next week