Friday, August 15, 2025

Still On Missing My Father

  The first and only time i ever saw my father cry was when his mother died.                                                                      I was only 7 but even then i knew, death was not a friend.                                                                                             He wasn’t rolling on the ground and wailing.                                                                                                                     He was squatting in front of his elders, unable to stop that single tear from rolling down his face.                             Still he smiled.                                                                                                                                                                     When i ran up to him and snuggled in his lap,                                                                                                                 he held me close                                                                                                                                                               but i could feel his body shake while he held back the grief that threatened to break that stoic face he always carried.

It has been 2 years of my own all consuming grief. 

Unlike Abba, i cry all the time. 

On a flight, 

in a train, 

on a bus, 

at the gym, 

in between waking and sleeping, 

at the border between two worlds. 

I am never able to stop the tears when they choke my throat and become a spear. 

It hurts to be held hostage to a sadness that no words can break free.

Grief doesn’t get better or easier. 

It doesn’t get kinder. 

It is still 26th of May in my mind. 

Still the afternoon before zuhur when i put my head towards the Qibla and begged Allah to let him live. 

Take me instead, i begged —but Allah does not negotiate. 

Azra’il could not be late for Juma’ah so he held my father’s hand and led him to the congregation but on 25th, my father was still alive. 

I can still taste it. 

The sweetness of fatherhood. 

He still laughed and loved and i was still a daughter whose father could lift the moon. 

As the days go by, my capacity for withstanding this loss grows larger. 

As this grief grows, so does my heart. 

How much bigger would i need to grow, Abba? 

I am compelled to accommodate this loneliness that will never leave me. 

As my little feet try to fit in these big shoes my father left, i have had to learn how to walk again—how to get back up on my own, when i stumble and fall. 

I miss my father but most importantly, i miss my friend —my confidant.

To those of us, unable to heal, i wish us grace. 

I wish us kindness through this unforgiving experience. 

May we be reunited with the ones we miss so dearly.

Read More