For Leena; In Memoriam

They say pictures speak a thousand words…and they do. A Christmas family photo; in it, you seem to have persevered; Bashir gone, and you’re a single mother in your thirties, caring for three young girls and smiling, your contagious, one-of-a-kind Leena grin.  

I remember that Christmas like it was yesterday. Sixteen years ago, I came back after an absence of two years. I saw my father for the last time that year in Amman. You were welcoming. Your warmth, your words and a candlelit dinner at my favorite Italian restaurant, like I had only left a week before. At the end of our meal, you gave me this photo. ‘Our Christmas photo’, you said. I cherished it. Years later, and two years after you were gone, Tala would frown back at the frowning face of her 7 year-old-self, staring at her. It nonetheless amused her.

At times, walking my dog in the dark, I stare at the sky, and it almost seems like you can be near. I had stopped questioning. The interrogation had drained and probably angered an otherwise merciful God. I guess I just could not understand the mercy behind your departure; any more than I could the manner of how I learned of it. I had expectations. I had hope, and the small things that got in the way between me and your fate, just smothered them!

I remember the lines I wrote for Bashir, quoting Dylan Thomas, ‘Rage, Rage, against the dying of the light!’ For him and even more so for you, it was too soon; way too soon. If you can hear me now, I want you to know that I believed in my words. I believed you would persevere like you had the first time; I believed that you had grandchildren to raise and that you would be there for them. They were not mere words of encouragement. I believed you would live.

Over two years have passed, and I miss our conversations, health and keeping healthy, speeches and Toastmasters experiences, travel and wanderlust within our means, friends and how they fared and then some belated major life decisions, and whether we should have made them.

I still love and miss you, tremendously, but two years later I understand. You could never love after Bashir. You told me so, in our last car ride together. And you missed him. For the sixteen years it took to raise the girls and soldier on in life, there was not one single time when we spoke that you did not somehow mention his name, even if in passing. His presence in your mind was never ‘in passing’.

I remember the day he passed and after the funeral; I had a dream that night. In my dream he tossed a ball to Dana, and then passed it to Fadia and Tala in turn. I had walked into this ‘scene’, and he interrupted the game, and looked up and stared hard at me. In his eyes a plea that I could not comprehend. I had shared that dream with you, and you grasped the message immediately. ‘He was very worried about the girls, Zaineb. He was telling you about the girls. I told him I would raise them well, and I will.’

You accomplished that and so much more. Soon the girls would be leaving the nest one by one, and you would be once again alone. You had stayed to fulfill his dying wish, and now it was time to leave.

I thank a merciful God that you did not suffer more. I am happy that you got to hold your first grandchild, long enough to take pictures with him. We live such short lives, no matter how long the years seem to drag. And the little we can achieve should be a heartwarming blessing, and yet, we are constantly inconsiderate. In your short life, Leena, your achievements were gigantic, especially given the challenges we as women face in our societies. In my mind, your face shines. It always has, and always will.

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