An Open Farewell Letter

Knowing we will all die one day doesn’t console a soul who longs for long talks, aimless walks, and unplanned movie nights with you. 

How do I wrap my head around the fact that you are here in my heart, alive and vibrant, yet I could not even touch your cheeks? Or your hands. Your forehead, I couldn’t even kiss.

How come I hear you laugh, but your smile I don’t see anymore? A glimpse of your twinkling eyes I can’t have. How is it possible to end what’s supposed to be divine love?  

Embracing you was the first thought that crossed my mind when you said you were home. You said it was for good. And I replied, “at last.”

I never thought what you meant was not the same as what I had in mind. Memories of our times together flashed back as tears rushed down my face.

I saw you with me. As we were cleaning your mom’s house, we belted out “Immortal” from your favorite band “Evanescence.” Funny that the word means “fleeting” or “impermanence,” like our existence on earth. 

Do people read blogs in heaven? If so, are you there somewhere, aware of what you were to me? I knew from the bible that memories of our mortal lives fade. That past relationships don’t continue beyond the physical realm.

But I don’t know much about that space to talk about it in detail. I’m much more interested in what your life meant for me.

Yes, I believe in a higher power. Somewhere, someone, is responsible for every miracle of life on this planet. And that this power likely chooses to take us back – when it’s time. To free us from suffering.

Because what is the point of living when it’s filled with suffering? And isn’t the eradication of suffering the ultimate goal of every human being?

I’m no philosopher. I’m no longer religious, too. I just continue to believe that God exists. And if this is true, he has a grand plan for you, Ate Burnz.

I never spoke about this with you because your faith is unshaken. It just grew stronger the sicker you got. Hope kept you going.

I left Dubai with a heavy heart seven years ago because I was going to miss you and I felt that you wanted me to stay by your side. My heart still aches and I’m not sure how long it will feel this way.

Our 92-year old grandma heard of your passing and said her goodbye, too. Another tragedy that surprised the clan. My oldest cousin, you will be remembered fondly and every soul you touched mourned your passing.

I still hear our old room reverberating with your laughter. And this time, I don’t whine about it. My ears crave the sound and I no longer wish to trade silence with it.

Keep on laughing.

2 Replies to “An Open Farewell Letter”

  1. I feel your pain, Issa. Tightest hugs. Come to us when grief swallows you. We will be there.

  2. I appreciate the kind words and tight hugs, Gretch. I’m really grateful for friends like you at this time.

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