Today marks a year since my grandpa passed away. I can't believe it. My brain is still taking time to register the fact that he's gone. But, knowing that he's been gone for a year makes it even worse. 365 days. That's how long it has been. And, yet, the memory is still so freshly etched in my mind, it feels as if the memory of him leaving this world will always be engrained in my mind. I guess watching a loved one die in front of your very eyes does that to you. It was a day before my flight, I rushed to his room when mama called for me, I imagined she wanted to tell me something, but it wasn't. Her, my grandma, and my aunt were furiously rubbing his feet, and hands, and reciting prayers, tears in their eyes. His body was serene. I guess movies made me believe that a person's climax is dramatic, I never thought it would be so hauntingly quite from his side, an eery silence that would haunt me to this day. The only movement I saw was that of his eyes rolling upwards. My grandpa was my favorite man. I loved him more than anything, and admired him more than I loved him. He was always a strong, healthy, and independent man. Until he got cancer, he was. But, cancer is that vile, disgustingly horrible disease that makes you suffer beyond belief. It punishes not only you, but your loved ones. It's a test not for one individual, but for every individual who loves the afflicted one, because, they all suffer in different ways, as he or she fights the battle against death. I've lost two grandparents to cancer, my grandma to breast cancer, and my grandpa to lung cancer. You know what's ironic though, my grandpa never smoked. Not once in his life, not even shisha/hookah. He wasn't a passive smoker either. And yet... Life is ironic in such cruel ways sometimes. No matter what though, he may be gone in terms of physicality, but, his presence will always be there in my heart. Love you dadajan, May Allah grant you the highest place in heaven. Aameen
