Ayesha
It seems like yesterday since we last saw each other in the September of 2016 and now it’d be a lifetime till we see one another again, in a time and place unbeknownst to me.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget the phone call that I received on the 10th of February, the one that completely broke me down and had me furiously shaking my head in continuous denial. It still seems like a painful, ridiculous thing to put together in a sentence, Ayesha is gone- dead. My mind still refuses to acknowledge it and keeps telling me that it’s probably just some horrible joke that someone’s playing on us and you’re going to send me a text saying that you were ‘jk’ and that you’re back and we can all stop with our embarrassing, displays of grief now.
I thought it’d get less painful as time passes and so far I’ve been terribly wronged my own tears. I wake up in the middle of each night, thinking about you, worrying if you’d be cold with all the snow in Toronto and then trying to puzzle together the suddenness of your passing. I wasn't there so I keep wondering if you knew and understood what was happening when you started fading away, leaving everything you loved behind. I keep hoping and praying ferociously that there was no pain when you were struggling to breath and the hospital staff tried to put you on the ventilator. I keep going over the timeline, it took a mere two hours for the infectious fever to take you away- a healthy, beautiful, strong woman. How could the hospital in a first world country not know how to deal with it? Was it negligence that took you away or just fate? Then I keep going back and forth over the idea of you getting pregnant, what if you hadn’t? What if you hadn’t chosen to get married so soon, have a baby so soon? Would you still have had to leave so soon? Every night, till daylight breaks and I just lie there, without any answers or respite from my grieving, nagging mind. In the end, the only way that I find any solace during the day is by acknowledging that, perhaps, it was a wonderful thing that you lived your life so exuberantly fast, so fiercely alive and completely on your own terms- loving every second of it and always laughing and joking while at it. You had a great time here and did almost everything that you’d wanted to. That’s also what makes it so hard to understand and imagine you being completely lifeless and gone forever from our lives.
Twenty-four is never the right time to die, ever. Especially for someone you’ve held in your arms and sung silly songs to, had midnight pajama parties with, scolded on doing sheesha, discussed relationship problems with, shared clothes and make up together, had crazy fights and lots of drama around yet thankfully, even more love and great times. You were less of an aunt and more like a baby sister to me.
I keep going through our texts and Facebook chats, reading all your plans, domestic complaints and aspirations, including those about your wedding preparations and all of your photographs. You look so alive and absolutely stunning that it breaks my heart every single time, for you and Ami. I wish I’d had the chance to hug you tightly and tell you how much I love you and how much you’ve always meant to me. The other day, while trying to tell Hassan what I’m going through, I told him that it feels like someone has taken a piece of my heart away and that’s how much it hurts, always will.
Ayesha- your name itself means the one who is full of life and vivacious. That’s exactly how you were and will continue to live in my memories, now and forever.
