Love Beyond Life

Today is the 3rd anniversary of your death. I couldn't understand how three years had passed. You were gone, but every day seemed to pass in your memory. Three years, not a single day had passed when I had forgotten you. I have been passing the days with a heavy heart, but I have never let anyone understand how incomplete I really am. I don't know when Allah will free me from this suffering.

I still remember those days in the hospital. You told me, "As long as I am in the hospital, you should also be in hospital." At that time, I sat in front of the ICU gate for seven days wearing a pair of pants and the Brazilian jersey you gave me.

I didn't eat anything; I cried; I screamed. I prayed in the hospital mosque, praying to Allah to bring you back. But Allah did not respond. I am a sinful servant of Allah, so maybe Allah did not listen to me. Your father, mother, sister, and brother all gave me courage.

We tried a lot, but still it was not possible to bring you back. It seems that there was nothing by our side, only the priceless memories of a wonderful relationship. If I had known black magic, I would have done it even with my life. But there was nothing I could do.

I remember the last thing I said to you. One day on the phone you said, "You know, one day you might die first, or I. If I die first, what will you do?" I said then, "I will go to the cemetery every afternoon to visit you." You smiled and said, "Love you," then shouted on the other end of the phone. I remember that moment, as I still remember it today.

I have not forgotten that promise I made to you. As long as I am alive, I will go to the mosque next to the cemetery every day to pray Asr and visit your grave to pay my respects. I know how hard it is, but I know that you and Allah are watching everything. Only I cannot see.

Sitting near the grave, I remember only one thing to console myself: "You are three and a half hands below me, and I am three and a half hands above." Saying this gives me some peace. I know that there is peace where you are. Even though it has been three years, I still keep the pencil you used carefully. May it always bring you memories.

Your school bag, which is now 4 years old, I still keep in the condition you used it, and I do not carry it on my shoulder because if I use it, the bag will tear and get dirty, but I take care of them so that their position remains intact. I also do not use the headphones, which were your gift for my birthday. Because I do not like it at all when everyone makes fun of headphones in the program. I will not give those headphones to anyone else. I have now hung them on the wall of my room because they are your gift.

However, all the words I have said today were just false consolation to you. Because what will happen with consolation?

I want our Parash, whom you love so much, to learn to write the first letter A with the pencil used by his mother. I want Parash to go to school for the first time with his mother's school bag on his shoulder. This hope, this love, it seems, was in you. You wanted me to become a great musician one day, to release my album, to do a program on TV. I am lost in those dreams of yours.

Now, I am trying to fulfill those dreams. But I know you are there, in some other world, but I know your prayers are with me.

My love has increased since you left. I am giving you more love now than the love I gave you. The gift you gave me, our 44-minute phone record, 4 years of memories, 1175 photos—everything is still with me. Only you are not there. But I know, where you are, there is peace.

This world cannot give anything, even if it gives a lot. There is only the mindless mind of man. If Allah writes it on our foreheads, we will meet again in the hereafter. As long as God keeps me alive, my love will live on. You were and still are an invaluable part of my life.