Death

– 1 –

TO know just how he suffered would be dear;
To know if any human eyes were near
To whom he could intrust his wavering gaze,
Until it settled firm on Paradise.
– Emily Dickenson –

We were going to the hospital for a doctor’s appointment. He had been improving for the past month or so, but just when we thought the worst was over, his health started deteriorating. He lost his appetite once again and was getting weaker and paler every day. And as we headed to the car that morning, his legs suddenly failed him and he almost collapsed on the stairs, but with my support he managed to sit on them.

“Are you hurt?” I asked him, but he remained silent and gazed away. He refused to look me in the eyes because he didn’t want me to catch a glimpse of the pain and frustration he was going through. He sat there silently for a few minutes, then he whispered in a barely audible voice “It’s getting closer.” I asked him what “IT” was and he quickly mocked my stupidity. IT, was “Death” of course, how foolish could I have been to miss that. I asked him “Are you afraid of IT?” and he answered “No, I just want to get IT over with”

– 2 –

I ’VE seen a dying eye
Run round and round a room
In search of something, as it seemed,
Then cloudier become;
And then, obscure with fog,
And then be soldered down,
Without disclosing what it be,
’T were blessed to have seen.
– Emily Dickenson –

He had an accident in the bathroom that morning while I was at work. His head was bleeding and they had to call an ambulance to get him to the hospital. I stayed in his room, watching as he tried in vain to get some sleep, but the pain denied him any comfort. After a couple of hours, I had to go to work, so I stepped up to his bed and asked him if he needed anything. He stared at me for a while, but he seemed to be looking at something beyond my own figure, so I repeated the question again and this time he said: “Take me with you”. “Where to?” I asked in astonishment, for the mere notion of movement seemed out of the question. He seemed to be just as confused, but then he snapped back, looked at me and said that he needed nothing and I should just get to work. So I left.

– 3 –

DEATH is a dialogue between
The spirit and the dust.
“Dissolve,” says Death. The Spirit, “Sir,
I have another trust.”

Death doubts it, argues from the ground.
The Spirit turns away,
Just laying off, for evidence,
An overcoat of clay.
– Emily Dickenson –

My mother called from the hospital in the morning, saying that he had entered a coma that night. I went there to find my family and relatives gathered around his bed, with teary eyes reciting verses from the Quran and praying to God for an unlikely and unwanted recovery. My mother asked me to talk to him, to see if he would respond to my voice. All I wanted to do was to whisper in his ears: “Take it easy Dad, relax and just let go. It’s YOUR will not HIS, It’s YOUR will not HIS” but for some reason I couldn’t find the heart to utter these words in front of my mother. And so I left again, told them I was tired and had to go home get some sleep.

– 4 –

THERE ’S something quieter than sleep
Within this inner room!
It wears a sprig upon its breast,
And will not tell its name.
– Emily Dickenson –

Death came after I left. Treading slowly and silently into the room, trying carefully not to disturb the people who had gathered to welcome it. Unnoticeably it passed the tired eyes and the grieving hearts, and headed towards its new companion. In a second, one journey is over and a new one begins. I wonder how it felt for him as he floated away gazing at them standing by; unaware of his departure and ridiculously asking God for something he had already left behind. I wonder if he missed me, if he noticed my absence, but then again I remember how he was and I know that he must have understood.

– 5 –

This is the Hour of Lead-
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow-
First - Chill - then Stupor - then the letting go –
– Emily Dickenson –

The invariably sunny skies of Amman are misty as we head to the graveyard, yet the raindrops are held back by their God. Clouds are gathering, and the wind is unsettling the dust along the long road to the grave, yet the rain refuses to fall. The body is laid in its place, and clay is used to cover clay, but Heaven fails to show generosity and refuses to release the burden of the clouds. Finally, on the way back, a few scattered drops escape, mild and gentle they run down to meet the earth, unable to quench its thirst or relieve the tired clouds.

– 6 –

DEATH sets a thing significant
The eye had hurried by,
Except a perished creature
Entreat us tenderly
– Emily Dickenson –

A friend of mine sends me a message asking how I was doing. She tries to comfort me by saying that she knows how difficult it must be right now, but I should know that this will soon be over and I’ll be able to smile again as I remember the happy moments. Unfortunately, for me everything is different. I was smiling while I read her message, mostly because of the ironically extensive Islamic and Arabic traditional rituals that were performed to honor the spirit of a man who was antisocial, nontraditional, and agnostic in every sense of the word. A few weeks later, I start remembering the happy moments and my smile fades away. Once again I'm able to remember the time before his illness, which now seems like centuries away, and I realize how much I truly miss him. And as I start reflecting upon my own life, I realize that nothing I ever did made me feel satisfied or accomplished except when I managed to make him feel proud, and I know that I’ll never get the chance to do that again.

Cities -- 1

They say Love kills Time
They say Time kills Love
Oh my Love, let’s go
Before Time and Before Love.
-- Fairouz --

Sometimes it starts with an idea, a pure illusion some might say. It’s that photo on a postcard you received, or a short scene from a movie you liked perhaps. But that’s usually more than enough to trigger your curiosity. You go there once or twice to examine it more closely, and you start by visiting its main attractions. The amazing monuments and the buzzing streets grab your attention very fast, and soon enough you become addicted to that view from your favorite café, or the smell of fresh bread coming out of that bakery around the corner. Unconsciously, the decision is made. And suddenly, without a warning, you find yourself moving in there.

You keep on exploring, and as time passes by, the darker alleys and the collapsing buildings float to the surface. This newly found contrast with the more glamorous sides somehow adds to its charm, and you become more and more interested. Your eyes start hunting for the imperfections that distinguish it from all the others and they become the things you cherish the most. After all, they are your own discoveries, a luxury that only your eyes can enjoy, for they remain invisible to everyone else.

After a while, there’s nothing much left to discover. Everything falls into habit. The things you haven’t seen before become too predictable, and you become more or less familiar with every little detail it contains. The early amazement is replaced by a false feeling of security, and your capacity for wonder is suddenly diminished by the strong biased association you have formed with everything in it. You become too attached, and it haunts you as you travel, carrying around that heavy melancholic sense of longing for all the little things that have managed to become part of you.

Then, once again without a warning, you wake up some day and find yourself where you no longer wish to be. Time is Invincible. Time is Invincible. You pack your stuff and leave, leaving a few of your things behind to lighten up your burden. And you realize that this time you probably won’t miss a thing. The light and the darkness are merged so perfectly to stain your memory, but this stain won’t stay there for long. Soon more stains will come and will cover it completely, and eventually it becomes just a vague spot in the back of your head that you hardly ever notice and never really manage to understand.