Death!

Death!

My constant companion who never leaves...!

I first met him when I was still on the cusp of a truncated childhood that had not had its fair share of life. I opened my windows to my grandmother's astonished eyes raised to the sky. When I looked up, I saw clouds forming with tears before they cried.

But her face, which the years had gnarled, was calm as I had never seen it before. I sat next to her in silence on the roof of our large house and held her wooden hands, contemplating them. When my father saw me, he came slowly, trembling. He sat next to her and wept silently as I had never seen him before. I didn't know why he called her with such pain when she was right next to him. I saw him carry her, descend the long stairs, enter her room, place her on her bed, and embrace her head.

In the evening, he took her with my uncles who came from all over, and they buried her together in the ground. I heard my non-blood aunt whisper a macabre wish, that the worms would rise from the earth to feast on my grandmother's burial. My mother scolded her and wept, but my father took out his bloodshot eyes and I never saw her again that day.

In the evening, I thought about my grandmother, who was left in the darkness far away in a green wooden box that was brought from the neighboring mosque. Yesterday, she slept in the adjacent room, and I heard her calling her childhood friends all night long. I hear her crying. I hear my father comforting her, I hear her wailing and my mother's lamenting. Then I hear my father's thundering voice suddenly turning into a soft, tender voice telling her events of a distant day when he was at school, as if they were events of that day.

Her muffled voice calling Aisha, her childhood friend, echoed in my head, and I couldn't sleep - as usual - because of the noise. I struggled to understand that my grandmother wouldn't be in her usual spot by the balcony, gazing at the sky and twirling her rosary. My father claims she ascended to the heavens, but how could that be when we buried her in the earth?

This memory lingered in my imagination for a long time. I imagined death as a ladder, ascending from the earth to heaven. Then, I realized that we love to lift our tragedies skyward and worship our sorrows. I came to realize that death arrives when we've lost our ability to refuse. Death brings an end to our lengthy existence and leaves us alone in the dark to accompany the earthworms. Death does not need reasons. My grandmother's body was as healthy as a rock. Her clothes were clean as a virgin in her coffin, but her mind had only departed to the past long ago.

This was my first encounter with death.

A meeting filled with astonishment and maturity.

I came to realize that death arrives when we've lost our ability to refuse, and I lost that ability long ago.

I run away every time I accidentally come across it, whether in the face of a loved one, an elderly person, or someone on their deathbed. I try to press a button in my head to block out memories and kill the questions. But every time I run away; it attacks me in my dreams. It comes to me in the same panoramic vision, and I wake up trembling, ready to cry for no reason.

And today, I meet it again.

Today, my closest friend Khalid was found dead in his prison cell.

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