It’s been 4 years. And it’s also been 3 years.

I’ve lost them both.

The apples of my eye, the lights of my life, whom my life revolved around and without whom I couldn’t have ever imagined my life. I’ve lost them both.

It’s been 3 years since I’ve written something to ease my grief. I cannot begin to describe how cathartic it has been for me to write my grief away. But Kaafa passing just months after Maama left us was just incomprehensible to me. I hadn’t predicted this. And so I stopped writing and embraced it. Head-on. No more catharsis.

I remember it being 24 hours since I last slept. I had done my assigned rounds and procedures and was sitting in a bustling tea room having an egg cutlet and a glass of milk tea with a few of my closest friends. We were just counting down until the Professors’ arrived to get their rounds done so that we could all go home and get some well-deserved sleep. It was well past 12 at noon. I remember feeling numb from the sleep deprivation. Most days, although I was ‘body-tired’ I still had some soul left in me to endure a few more hours. I suppose that was because I loved the work. I remember being completely absorbed in conversation when my phone rang.

‘Mamma’.

By then, it had been a few weeks since Kaafa was taken to the hospital and admitted for a Gastric Outlet Obstruction back in Male’. I had been keeping in touch with family back at home so that I could time my leave from work appropriately. I wanted to be with Kaafa when he needed me most. I didn’t want to run out of my leave days and end up forced to return prematurely. By then I had always known that at 90 years his time was quickly running out. Until then, I had always been told that Kaafa was still doing okay and that I need not come in haste. But this time, the call was different.

‘I think it’s time you come home’.

I immediately applied for leave from work effective immediately so that I could be on the next flight home. Next flight home turned out to be the next morning. ‘That gives me a safe window to get home and see Kaafa’, I had thought.

The next night I couldn’t get a restful sleep. I tossed and turned and just skimmed on sleep. I remember being woken up to the sound of my husband’s phone ringing just a little while before my alarm was set for to wake me up to leave to the airport. The call was from my mom. My heart sank.

‘What are they saying? Tell me what they are saying. He’s gone, isn’t he? I’m too late, aren’t I?’

I remember how my husband’s lips quivered as he handed me the phone.

‘Kokko. Kaafa is gone’.

My world imploded in on itself in a second. Just like that.

‘We need you to make a decision. I’m sorry. Today is Friday. And we need you to tell us if we should keep him until you come or if we should bury him for Friday prayers.’

‘Bury him’, I did not hesitate for a second. ‘That’s what Maama and Kaafa would have wanted. Bury him for Friday prayers’.

I remember screaming into a pillow. I was frustrated at the universe. I felt let down. I felt alone. It was just 5 hours of travelling between Kaafa and I, and yet fate had decided against me. I had saved my all my leave days from work for the last 10 months to be with him when he needed me most. I had planned it perfectly so that I could hug him one more time and say that I loved him with all my might. I remember screaming into the morning until I had no more anger in me. I had 5 hours of travelling in front of me to endure knowing that I had missed him for eternity. I would never have closure.

I remember sitting .. just sitting in the cab, the airport, the plane from one airport to another, the raindrops on the window of the car, the shuffling of food trays, muffled voices, the sound the wheels of the suitcases made on the cement and nausea. I remember holding back tears and my husband rubbing my back and just being ever-present like my rock that he is.

And I remember finally coming home to my mom’s face.

Tired. She was so tired.

But I also remember that vague sense of relief I felt. It wasn’t because neither Maama nor Kaafa had ceased suffering anymore. It was because of, I realised, that one true fact my husband had been repeating to me ever since we left the dusty roads of Chittagong.

‘They are together now’.