Last August you were taken away from us. We all knew it was coming, but none of us were prepared.
It has been 8 months.
But I don’t think I’ve healed. (Who can?)
Today, I was at the hair salon when I saw someone who looked exactly like you from the back. And I felt this hollow emptiness in my chest.
I wanted so badly for it to be you. But of course, it wasn’t. Just a regular stranger. Not the person I grew up with.
My fondest memory of you is during fasting month. When I stayed over at your place, we would have our morning meal together, and then you would pray (I was too young then to know how) while I read my book. I’ve always been a bookworm. When you were done you would tell me it was time to turn off the lights and go back to bed.
But no, I was never ready.
Just one more page, I would say.
But of course, that one page was never just one page. I could never stop. Instead of reprimanding me, you waited for me to be ready to close my book and drift back off to sleep.
Only then would you turn off the lights.
Wherever you are, I hope you’re happy. And I hope you’re proud of me.
I miss you, grief never fades away.