Five Years Later, It Still Hurts

Dear Youssef,

Upon the soft soil that you're buried in, the soil that you once used to walk on angelically, the soil surrounding your grave that is now home to a lot of blooming flowers, I'm writing this letter to you. A letter of the kind of love that can give birth to a whole new universe, the kind of love you gave to us.

It hurts me knowing that you could've lived longer, you could've had another chance, another day but you didn't. You didn't because of a problem that could have been solved in a split of a second yet we had no ability to alter it. A lot have told me that there's a reason behind your tragic death. But tell me what reason is behind you leaving us abruptly? What is the reason behind your death? You were taken from us too soon. 

You should have been with us, with our family. You should have been there during our family gatherings. You should have been there during our eight-hour calls and sleepovers. You should have been there during the laughter and the sorrow. You should have been there when Sara was graduating from university and when Jana won her first championship. You should have been there when we were all sharing secrets and waves of laughter. You should have been there when I first got my heart broken and stayed up all night crying my eyes out, aiming for inner peace yet received none. You should have been there when Dad got sick and was forced to leave work and travelled 6175 miles to seek another day of living. You should have been there when pain lingered between Mum's bones after Teta Farida was on the verge of dying. You should have been there seeing us all grow and learn. You should have been there at my middle school graduation. You should have been there when we went fishing. You should have been there when my family stayed up until dawn talking about love. You should have stayed longer, Youssef.

I'm a firm believer in fate and destiny but you left us too soon. I miss going into Teta Farida's house at early Friday mornings and go straight to your bed waiting for you to wake up. I miss hearing your laughter that could light up cities and heal shattered hearts. I miss helping Teta with feeding you and cleaning up your bed. I miss sitting beside you and play with your hair while you laughed hysterically. I miss talking to you when no one's in the room. I miss telling you why my twin annoyed me this morning. I miss telling you about what I heard our mothers talking about. I miss talking to you even if you won't respond. I miss your presence.

When I was small, Mama always told me that when our loved ones die, they never really leave. They remain around us, watching over us. But I'm scared that you won't watch over me. I'm afraid that I won't feel your presence.

Five years ago, when the hospital called telling us about your dreadful news, Mama pulled me close and hugged me. Despite everyone's presence around me, I felt numb. I was small at that time I couldn't apprehend the fact that you'll no longer be with us. I couldn't stand walking into Teta Farida's house and seeing your bed empty.  I couldn't stand seeing your clothes lying around your bed without you being there wearing them. I couldn't stand it when three years later they decided to give away your clothes. I couldn't comprehend the fact that when I get back from the school trip I won't find you in your bed waiting for me to spill the tea and fill you in with all my updates. 

Grandpa always said that you were the house's blessing. He was right. You truly were our blessing. After you left, things changed, the house changed. The light you've been enchanting our lives with left suddenly. I never saw Teta Farida as broken as she was after you left us.

I wanted you to stay. I wanted you to see me as I grow up. I wanted to go back to you when I'm lost and looking for advice. I wanted to see you grow. I wanted to tell you about the boy I loved and why I loved him. I wanted to tell you about the fear that filled me when he got into the hospital. I wanted to tell you about why I am so afraid of love and why Mama was crying earlier that morning.  

    

But now you're gone and it hurts me because now Teta Farida's house no longer feels like home. It hurts me because I realised that your life wasn't meant to be mine.

Youssef, you left us five years ago yet it still feels like yesterday.

Lots of Love,

Nour