Lost

For this holiday, I wore a pleated skirt reaching down to my wrists. As I climbed the stairs, I gently held the hem. After you left, I learned not to fall. Or rather, I learned to fear falling again…

After you left, I learned how a simple skirt can reduce a person to ruins.

I learned that flowers wither. I learned, after you left, about the bird that does not know how to fly. I learned that even if a person cannot run, they walk; even if they cannot walk, they crawl. No matter what breaks inside a person, life goes on.

The little girl who cried when she lost her shoe is gone now. The word “lost” now feels like a wound inside me, ready to bleed anew at any moment. Yet a person also learns to stand firm before certain sorrows.

I learned that to forget one pain, a person must first meet a greater one. I learned to give thanks through your pain.

I prepared you within me for every beautiful holiday. With smiles and tears, I remembered you in every moment. I carried this burden on my shoulders, as I always have, with tears.

Without you, I celebrated your holiday.

I offered the sweetest dessert to your guests, as if you were still in one of the rooms. As if you were about to walk through the door any moment now.

Because some people never leave the house, even after they are gone.

I began this holiday again with a lump in my throat, soil in my hands, and the Qur’an on my tongue…

And I understood that a person never fully learns to live with certain losses. They only grow accustomed to living with that absence.

This writing is for everyone who keeps going after a loss…