There's no do-over

Those supposedly in the know claim that it gets easier to deal with losing a loved one as time moves forward; from my present and limited experience in this matter, I can safely say that they don't know shit! There's nothing easy about losing some one you love. Who said it has to be easy? Each passing day is further proof that those who die are gone for good, and there isn't a single thing you can do or say to make them come back. It's a permanent end without the possibility for a sequel.

I try to appease myself through this mess by mildly convincing myself that my dad's time was up-but I know that it didn't have to be up! If he'd just listened to his friend (a doctor) and stayed overnight in the hospital to definitively pinpoint his ailment, I wouldn't be here sharing my misery with you now. And if the medical staff at the hospital were bright enough to figure out, well, if it isn't his heart (supposedly he had the heart of a 20 year-old) then it must be something else... duh... his lungs, perhaps?! All it took was a blood test to solve Baba's riddle. But the medical staff didn't even think to perform it. I wish I could beat up every single person at that hospital for not being vigilant about saving my dad's life. This person meant something to a whole lot of people. He wasn't just any old man. He was my father, a grandfather, an uncle, a brother, and a loyal trusted, friend. Everyday I am more certain that he died in vain-he could have been saved. There is no consolation here. None whatsoever.

It was a blood clot that took his life. It started out something minuscule, and managed to knock this tower of strength to his knees right into his grave. In just 4 short days it was all over for him. That which gives life, also takes it away.

Bottom line is that I miss him more now than I ever thought possible, and I know it's not going to get any better...

Words that Inspire

I came across this poem the other day, and I felt that this is how my dad tried to live his life. It is simple and beautiful, but so difficult in practice.

Live your life that the fear of death
can never enter your heart.
Trouble no one about his religion.
Respect others in their views
and demand that they respect yours.
Love your life, perfect your life,
beautify all things in your life.
Seek to make your life long
and of service to your people.
Prepare a noble death song for the day
when you go over the great divide.
Always give a word or sign of salute when meeting
or passing a friend, or even a stranger, if in a lonely place.
Show respect to all people, but grovel to none.
When you rise in the morning, give thanks for the light,
for your life, for your strength.
Give thanks for your food and for the joy of living.
If you see no reason to give thanks,
the fault lies in yourself.
Touch not the poisonous firewater that makes wise ones turn to fools
and robs the spirit of its vision.
When your time comes to die, be not like those
whose hearts are filled with fear of death,
so that when their time comes they weep and pray
for a little more time to live their lives over again
in a different way.
Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home.

                                                                                                 -The Teachings of Tecumseh 

Strange Dream

I finally had a dream about my dad. It was strange, as most dreams are...

We were siting in a circular room that was all white. The sofa was white and mimicked the shape of the room. Dad didn't know where he was and why he wasn't with us anymore. He seemed alright for the most part and he looked good. What bothered him the most was that he had no explanation for what happened to him; he just couldn't figure it out, and wanted nothing more than to be back with us.

As we sat there, I showed him pictures of my uncles who had passed away before him, Amo Mazhar and Amo Radi. He recognized them, saying, "Oh, yes, he's there with me, and so is he." But he appeared indifferent because it wasn't where he wanted to be. Being with people he knew was no consolation for him. What he wanted more than anything was to be back in the land of the living. I told him it was impossible to resurrect him since it's been 40 days since he passed, and we had missed our window of opportunity. I was extremely apologetic and I told him that we wanted nothing more than to have him back with us.

I woke up with tears in my eyes.

A Really Good Guy

Today marks 1 month since our lives were permanently altered with the sudden passing of my father. It's amazing how many new things we've had to deal with in this month, how many new responsibilities we have, never realizing what a huge load my father carried. It wasn't only the moral support that we got from having my dad around, but also how easy he made our lives. He took care of just about every detail and we didn't have to worry about a thing. His solution was always a phone call away. He went above and beyond what's considered normal. He not only looked after his family, but also did what he could for those in need

A few days after he passed away, I found a note with the name of a man whose problem was outlined on this small piece of paper. It read: "Taxi driver, so and so, used to operate his taxi out of  a prominent hotel in Amman. The bell captains are now giving the Al Mumayaz Taxi preference over him, causing him financial hardship. Sunday 10:30AM." It seems that the driver had gone to my father asking if he could intervene and perhaps rectify the situation. I'm sure my father did what he could to help this guy out. That's just the type of man he was. No one deserved to suffer if there was something he could do about it.

I know what a gem of a human being my father was; I was fully aware of that even when he was alive. I hear stories everyday of his kindness and generosity and how he touched people from all walks of life. It makes me so proud to hear this, because these stories confirm what I knew all along--he was a really good guy!

I love you Dad.

This is one of his favorite things!

Among the things my dad enjoyed is history, particularly the history of the Arab people. Here's a link to a website he had bookmarked about the Arab dynasties and leaders. Enjoy!

http://www.hukam.net/index.php

This was a bookmark that he had made himself, having just learned to use a computer not too long ago... it's endearing to know that he finally gave in to the PC that used to burn his eyes. Just one more thing to miss about him! :-)

Just Eat It!

One thing about my dad is that he loved to eat good food. It's a known fact that whenever you came to our house, if Dad was upstairs and in the kitchen, he would insist that you eat something--be it olives that he pressed himself, olive oil from the farm, some good white Nablus cheese, his zaatar with the whole wheat taboun bread...anything old school and from Nablus was a staple in our house. That being said, he loved his fried chicken (he even asked to have some Popeye's for lunch the day he passed!). He especially loved dark chocolate.

My dad also loved eggs, preferably cooked! Semi-soft boiled eggs (my favorite) smothered in salt and a bit of pepper, or scrambled eggs the way I used to make them--scrambled in the frying pan--not in the bowl, made with olive oil or samneh balady. Delicious!! We would stand around the kitchen counter and devour a plate of 6 eggs in 5 minutes flat!

So, a long time ago, probably when I was 15 or so, I made some yummy scrambled eggs, and it was probably the first time I'd ever made eggs in my life. They were so good, that I kept asking him, "Zaki il bayd, sah, baba?!" (The eggs are delicious, right Dad?!). I think I must have asked him like 10 times, until finally I got it that he wanted me to shut up already about the eggs!

I Miss You Like the Deserts Miss the Rain

Death unexpectedly knocked on the door and stole someone I was never prepared to lose. I never thought or even imagined my father could really die since I hadn't lived a single day without him being a part of my life. Now comes a new existence, sharing something with so many others who have experienced this sort of loss before me. I now know what it means and how much it hurts to lose someone you love so dear. Death is the one thing we are all bound to experience, but no one ever prepares us for it...

Baba, Saturday, 11 September 2010

There are many times I think of my dad these days and I can't believe he's gone. There are moments during the day when I want to pick up the phone and call him, then I remember that he won't be answering his phone even if I did call. Sometimes I need his advice and realize that he's not around to ask. These moments are becoming less frequent since the notion that he's 6 feet under is the very next thought that crosses my mind. Which leads me to think that it's just not fair that he's been taken away. When I see the pictures of him taken just 6 days before he passed away, I think that it's impossible that he's not with us. He is so alive in those pictures, and his memory is still so fresh in my mind. Is there really nothing I can do to make him come back, are you sure he's not going to drive up in his car and walk through the door? Is it really impossible to turn back time?!!

I miss you, Dad. I miss hearing your footsteps in the morning in the kitchen upstairs. I miss smelling your cologne when you go to work. I miss your laugh, your wit and your sarcasm. I miss your opinions about this shallow society. I miss hearing your thoughts on the political situation. I miss suffering through the lame action flicks you so loved to watch every night after dinner. I miss seeing you passed out in your chair with the cat sitting above your head while watching TV. I miss seeing your socks being hung out to dry, and the shoes you used to wear in the workshop. I miss hearing the sound of the power saw or the hammer while you were working on something in the workshop. I miss your curved thumbs, your salt and pepper hair, the age spots dotted around your face. I miss seeing your face. There are so many things to miss about you Dad...
 
 And life goes on for the living.

Baba's Bucket List

Have you ever put anything off until later? I know I have.

I was thinking about it today when we were at the the Palestinian Embassy...I would have put off this trip indefinitely. I mean, who would willingly want to waste almost three hours of their day sitting around waiting for some document with a bunch of screaming kids, smelly men, and oblivious women?!

With all this time on my hands, I got to thinking about how many things my father put off until later...the kitchen cabinets that were never finished, though he poured his heart and soul into making them just right. He probably thought, "oh, I'll pick it up later when I'm more energetic and I have the patience for it." That being said, he was never one not to admit defeat. He acknowledged that it was a far bigger job than he was capable of... What about other things that he started and never got the chance to finish? The books that still have bookmarks and notes in them, halfway finished. (It's astonishing to see how similar we are in that respect-I'm always reading about 3 books and 5 magazines at the same time). What about the things that I didn't know about, that he kept in his mental notebook (his head)? We all have so many of these projects that we never get around to completing. There's always a someday, or tomorrow. I'm not saying that we shouldn't put things off--it's human nature, but it's interesting to figure out why we do it.

What I find most interesting about my father is that he was OK with not finishing a project, and saying that he just got bored of doing whatever it was. I wonder if he would have hurried up and finished the books and the projects had he known that he would be taking his final leap fairly soon. Maybe would he have opted to do something else. Did he have a bucket list?

I never heard him say, I would love to go to this place, or I would love to do this before I die... For me, that is fascinating because I still have so many things I'd like to do, and places I'd like to see and experience. If you're asking, I do have a bucket list, I just haven't put pen to paper yet!

Bitter Sweet Birthday

It's my birthday today...42 years ago I entered this world. I feel old and young at the same time. Am I middle age?! It's ironic that there would be just two weeks between the passing of my dad, and the celebration of a life..I suppose that there is never a good time to die.

At any rate, I decided today that I was going to live my life the way my father would want me to...to get up out of this rut and move forward. We cannot deny our sadness, but to help get over it, we have to face life head on--NO FEAR! Come what may!

Here is my birthday wish for myself: For however long I have on this earth, I want to live my life well. I want people to reflect on my life much the same way people are with my father's passing.

It feels like it's going to be a good first day of my 42nd year!

The Origin of Randudeh

Has anyone ever wondered why my nickname is randudeh? You guessed it, my dad gave it to me...How original, right? I think I reminded him of a worm when I was small, because I was very skinny (believe it or not), and lanky... sort of like a worm. That all changed of course when puberty hit!!

There you have it. Another original Miqdad invention!!

Lessons in Life

Baba around 16 years old. This picture was taken in Damascus

The past couple of days have been so difficult... I think it's finally hit me that he's really gone. Gone from this world, and maybe somewhere else. Telling myself that he's on a trip isn't cutting it anymore, because the abyss of emptiness left behind is just too vast.

I'm wondering when I will stop crying and feeling sad. I want to feel whole again, and no matter how many people tell me they love me, (which I truly appreciate) their love is not a replacement for what I had with my dad. What I feel is beyond missing--it's more profound--it's an empty aching that just won't go away. And sadly, no amount of pictures of my dad, or places where he went or things that he's done or the books that he's read will bring him back; they just help to keep his memory fresh in my mind. I'm not having moments of weakness, but these are the steps I need to take to come to terms with the fact that my father's beautiful soul is pleasing some one else right now. I hope they know how precious he is and how deeply he touched our lives.

I got a condolence message from a friend, and she said that we mustn't be certain that there will always be a tomorrow. Maybe that is part of a lesson that I need to learn from all of this.

James Blunt's Carry You Home put it really nicely:
As strong as you were
Tender you'll go
I'm watching you breathing for the last time
A song for your heart
And when it is quiet
I know what it means and I'll carry you home
I'll carry you home...

I wasn't waiting in vain

When I was little, probably about 4 or 5, I would sit outside in the front yard of our house in Jabal Amman, without a single toy, waiting for what seemed like hours for my dad to come home from work. I wouldn't budge from my spot in case he came and I wasn't there to greet him. That was the highlight of my day. I would bombard him with questions and be so excited to see him, like he'd been gone for weeks...

When we're small, we're untarnished by the cruelty of this world, and we want nothing but to give love and show love :-)

How it all began

I always knew I was special in my daddy's heart. I was the youngest of 4 children, and the only girl. I had to be, right? I wonder what it felt like for my dad to finally have a girl, after my mother gave him three sons of whom he would be proud one day. I'm sure he was filled with mixed emotions, the joy and promise of a new girl, but also concern for how to protect her from this big bad world.

Throughout my 42 years, he tried his best to teach me everything he knew about life: how to be a good person, to be proud and dignified, to be level-headed and wise, to be gracious and well-respected. He never prepared me for the day I would send him off to the great unknown, "The Leap", as he would call it. He took his final leap eight days ago now, Friday, September 17th, 2010. It was the most crushing day of my life, where I felt his skin become cold to the touch, as though life had slipped out of him like it was never there to begin with. This great man, whom I admired and loved so much was part of air, his body was all that was left behind as evidence that he truly did exist. It was a dream that I never wished to experience, because I never believed that my father would really take that leap.

This blog is dedicated to my father, Miqdad. It serves two purposes: the first being to help me overcome my grief, the second is to serve as a scrapbook of his life, with stories and tidbits that come to mind, and perhaps capture that air that he is now a part of.

I love you, Baba!