In the Memory of the Greatest Father

My father is the most incredible father I have ever known, not because he is my father, it's because he deserves it.

My father came to life in an entrepreneurial and humble family that valued work, family, and honesty.

When I was born, my family was on the edge of poverty; my mom used to tell stories about how my father always disappeared from early morning till late night because he had to work hard to provide the best food and shelter for us.

Life took away my mom when I was eight, and it devastated my father; after all, she was his student and the love of his life.

My father was there for my four-year-old sister and me; he used to cheer me up whenever I cried for lacking a mother's love while other kids got a soft kiss on their cheeks and a warm hug from a caring mom.

He used to feed my curiosity and imagination with late-night stories about dragons, funny ant jokes, and play Nintendo's Donkey Kong Jr. with me.

He taught me history through stories for hours; he spent the night guiding me with my art assignments, holding my tiny fingers in his warm hands as we painted together on a small canvas we made together.

He used to tease my nose with brushes and draw weird and funny animals on my hands, craving for me to laugh.

We shopped together, drove to his business together, cooked together, and wiped the floor together, dancing to the sound of the mambo music.

Even though he was busy building a successful business, he gave us plenty of time and ensured no teardrops fell on our cheeks.

What makes me proud of my father isn't the late-night stories or funny moments - those things all good fathers share.

My father isn't only good; he is the greatest; he not only cared for my sister and me but also fed and supported four other families, including his mom, sister, and brothers.

He built a business empire and helped everyone around. He ensured that no one around him slept with an empty stomach or left without care or warm shelter.

Yet he lost everything during the Syrian civil war, and no one stood beside him. It did not break him; at age 65, he stood back, started everything from the ground up, and supported his family.

If that isn't enough to call him a hero, I do not know what is. His actions teach me how to be unstoppable and live like an honorable man by example.

Two days ago, our house went on fire, and I felt so bad for my father; why did this ethical, loving, generous, hardworking man suffer a lot? I looked at him in a video call with sad eyes, and he looked at me with curvy lips and a beautiful, smiling gaze.

He never showed me weakness or lack of confidence; he never blamed or complained.

He only said no one was hurt and everything would be fine.

This brave man builds and creates.

He fights through life bravely, and that's why I respect him as a man more than any other man.

Five years ago, I was abroad and made many mistakes; he tried to give me plenty of advice, but I was ignorant, stupid, and childish.

I lost a lot of money and went broke. I was so ashamed to call him and let him know my situation, but I did it anyway; $ 10,000 were in my bank account three days later, no question asked, despite his financial stress.

My dad is a tough man; sometimes, we argue about stuff that doesn't matter much to me but makes a massive difference to him, things like taking care of myself, which I ignored for a long time.

He keeps it his priority to ensure I'm always in my best shape physically, mentally, and financially.

We had many arguments and disagreements about many things. Sometimes he yells a lot, not because he dislikes me, but because deep inside, he wants me to be the best.

He is now in his 70s; he survived cancer, yet every day he wakes up at seven in the morning and goes to his new small business.

He doesn't ask us to pay or subsidize him; he gives us everything we need and asks for nothing in return.

I now live abroad and seldom get to see him; I don't know when it will be the last time I will see him or if I will see him again; that moment scares me.

It brings tears into my eyes whenever my imagination goes through these frightening thoughts.

Can I tell you I miss his tight and warm hugs, smiling eyes, and sense of humor? I miss his lessons and games and the funny moments we spent together.

I write this story to honor his remaining days and remind my future self of his generous giving; without him, I wouldn't be who I'm right now; he was my father, mother, teacher, friend, and everything.