My father
Nine years ago, he was diagnosed with kidney cancer.
A year later, after fighting with all his might, he passed away. It has been the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through, and due to my age, it was often something I felt like I was doing alone.
I was 16yrs old when he died and the news of him passing away was delivered to me while I was in class, preparing for my final exams.
Initially, I didn’t feel anything, I still saw him on his bed that morning preparing for his trip to Ibadan for his dialysis treatment, It seem like I was stuck in a dream, and everything that is going on isn’t really happening.
My dad was a phenomenal father, grandfather, husband, and loyal friend to many. He had a boundless compassion for the less privileged and a deep knowledge of the world. Mostly, though, he was known for his emotional generosity. He cared deeply about others.
Mourning him
I mourn for the loss of what I will never get to experience with you, for my family who aches for you to be there for every happy moment, sad moment, and all of the ordinary ones in between.
There are few events in life that are truly and completely irrevocable…the kind that you cannot go back from, no.matter.what. Events that change who you are and your lens instantly and permanently. These events impact how you move through the world, for better and for worse. There is no going back.
On the days my heart feel it’s fullest, I still feel the deep hole that his death left in it. He will never meet my children. I will never get to show him the things I’ve accomplished in life.
Dad, I will remember and pray for you fiercely until I am buried in that same soil. I am forever changed by losing you and yet I only am who I am to begin with because of you. On behalf of all of us, we love you.
My sister
Sekinat Hassan
Yesterday makes it nine years since you passed away.
It’s difficult to describe the tumultuous wave of feelings and sadness I felt when the news was delivered. No one tells you what it’s like to lose a sibling. No one tells you it feels like suffocating, like there’s a weight on your chest that never quiet subsides. I feel it every day.
The last time we talked was when you came back home for dad’s burial and we were both sharing our plans for the future. You wanted to travel to Kuwait and I wanted to become a software engineer.
If only I knew that our time would be so brief, I would have hugged you when you were leaving for school, I only waved thinking you’ll be back home soon enough. But alas, that was the last time I saw you.
My sister was very religious, I’ve never seen her not praying or reading Quran. She was also kind and wanted the best for everyone.
It goes without saying that shock is such an enormous part of mourning. It’s like searching for evidence on whether or not your nightmare is real and asking someone to slap you to see if it’s something that you’ll wake up from.
I also recognise that the healthy thing is to not brush past it and to work through it and that’s why I’m finally writing about this.
I promise to honour your name and everything you stood for. You’ll always be in my heart and I pray to Almighty Allah to forgive you, dad and every one of our loved ones that passed away.
Abdulhamid
