It was a little over thirty days into the war when I had my first and only dream about you.
I was in my house holding a birthday cake.
Candles flickering like they were trying to pull the good old days back into this world.
It looked like that old cinema with images coming, turning off, and flashing back on again..
The cake was the vintage white kind with cherries and pistachio sprinkles on top..
And there you were.
Sitting on my front porch.
Looking like you were in your forties.
Your right hand on your cheek.
Your face tilted to the side.
That big bright smile that I wished I could see in person.
Your friends were around you.
The boys are here, I said to myself.
You were warning them about the “devils” next door.
Women in red dresses at the neighbor’s house.
You told them it is going to be difficult and it will pass.
I put the cake in front of you.
And waited.
You cannot stop looking at the full moon once it appears at your door, can you?
Then I woke up.
That morning I realized the truth.
You were no longer with us.
And your birthday was not in August like I always thought.
It was that month.
November.
November 28.
I got to share November with you…but I will never get to tell you.
And that year you did celebrate.
But in my dream.
And with those who welcomed you for the first time in heaven.
Do you know what it means when they say
it’s been more than a year?
More than..
A year since we slept without a worry.
A year since we ate food without choking on grief.
and every
single
time… we choke, still.
One year means it is real.
For we only mark anniversaries of things that happened.
And a one year means it did..happen.
I still remember that moment..
I was working.
A message came in.
He may be gone..
For two hours I walked back and forth.
Rubbing my hands.
Saying no no no
fast
and in turbulence.
Not because I did not want to believe it.
But because I knew this cannot be happening.
This is not supposed to happen.
We should be praying in Jerusalem behind you.
We should hear you give a speech in person.
We should.
We should.
This cannot be!
Death knows no old and no young.
No promise.
No timing.
Death simply defeats all.
Two hours in.. my heart began to sink.
This must be it.
They would not let us suffer even a couple hours if you were there.
Our father would never leave us in this much pain..
not for two hours,
or for two days.
That night felt like the eye of the storm.
Pride of what we had.
Grief to what we’re about to lose.
Gratitude to what we still have.
and..
Guilt for loving you a bit more after you’re gone.
One wave after another.
One slap after another.
And every single night
in every single lonely moment
there was a scream from the bottom of our hearts.
Where are you?
Why did you leave us?
How did this happen?
How deep is this pain?
Every
single
night.
Fast forward.. to the funeral.
To many, that day was when their hearts were ripped off.
Seeing you give a speech and come out in a casket
did not escalate the pain but took it from a 100 to a zero.
As if someone pulled our hearts out of our chest,
and threw it far away.
I remember feeling nothing..
Tears trickling but feeling nothing..
Almost like numb.
My chest felt cast with an iron.
It reminded me of our childhood.
Of massacres that became ordinary because they had to be. Because the only way to deal with intense pain, is to stop it.
Your body protects you from a pain that big.
It shuts down to keep you alive.
But numbness does not last forever.
Sometimes it melts..
A little thaw when we see you smile in a video.
A little thaw when we listen to your lectures.
A little thaw.. that teaches us patience.
And then when the one-year anniversary comes close
you thaw a lot…
You walk back and forth.
Your eyes wander.
Your heart whispers
if it has been a year
then it must be real...
more than a year has passed and today happened to be your birthday..
and it broke our heart
that
someone else got to celebrate you this time..
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