When I Close My Eyes

When I close my eyes

The summers end was coming near as fall was bestowing on us. Our children played in our yard as the sun was beginning to set. The nights began to cool down a sigh of relief as it was a tall tell sign that fall was drawing nearer. As the years come to pass, the summers seem to get hotter. Sitting on our back deck, I look around at my beautiful family, admiring how blissfully lucky I am. My wonderful husband Remi was making our favorite meal Falafel for dinner. The aroma wafting in my face as I take a deep breath, the heavenly scent Maqluba. Rice, fried vegetables such as tomatoes, cauliflower potatoes and eggplant, seasoned to perfection served with your choice of chicken or lamb. Tonight, Remi is making it with Lamb. “Smells wonderful darling,” I say smiling at Remi. He gives me a wink, “of course it does, I am after all a professional chef, “he quips. I burst into laughter, the kind that comes from your stomach, causing for it to ache. “A chef huh? You burn half the meat half the time,” I quip.

“What? Me? No, certainly not half the time? I have only added slight crispness to some of the dishes that needed improvement,” he chuckles.

“Mmmm, is that what we are calling it? A burnt slab of meat, is an improvement upon it?” I playfully replied. “You still eat it?” He smirked.

“Well of course I do, if I don’t then the kids will certainly not and well that means we would all starve to death,” I joked back. He gives me a wink and begins to pull the chicken off the grill. “Children dinner is ready, time to come eat,” I call out to our boys, Salish and Motaz. They both come running inside, “ah ah ah, go wash your hands before sitting at the table,” I playfully tell them. Rolling their eyes, “Aw mama, come on we barely go them dirty,” Salish says.

“Yeah, see my hands are clean,” Motaz says as he holds his hands up.

“Mmhmmm, I see some dirt on those palms,” I playfully reply.

“What? Were?” Salish replies.

“Right, here,” I say as I go in to tickle their faces under their chins. Both boys bursting into laughter, “Now go wash your hands for supper before the tickle monster comes back,” I cheerfully say to them. Looking at each other, they both spring to the bathroom, washing their hands clean. Once we are all seated, we join hands in prayer blessing Allah for our food, for we have in abundance, and for the many other blessings such as for our health, our love and our peace.

“Woah, slow down there honey before you choke,” I say to our Salish.

“He must be growing, at the rate he is shoveling that food in his mouth,” Remi jokes. After dinner we wash up and get the children ready for bed. Reading a bedtime story and finishing with our evening prayers, Remi and I tucking both our boys into bed. Huggin them and giving them kisses on their foreheads brush their faces using the back of my hand. Gently, gliding it up and down before pushing their hair back, “I love you Salish,” I say and then kiss his forehead. I do the same for Motaz before walking out of their room. “Goodnight my babies. Sweet dreams,” I whisper and then close their door. them in. The days hustle and bustle have finally caught up with me as I finish getting ready for bed myself. Putting lotion on my hands I climb into bed and give Remi a kiss good night laying my head gently on his chest, listening as his heart beats slow to a soft and steady rhythm. Suddenly, I am violently awoken with the loud screams of people screaming, smoke fills my lungs. I call out for my husband and then to our boys. I get no answer. Making my way through the ruble, pieces of shrapnel from the bomb that fell through the ceiling, detonating on impact laid out before me. My head, dripping blood down my face I crawl on my hands and knees, trying to weave my way through the rubble. My hands getting cut from the glass, and debris alike on the floor. Looking around I realize I am not in my home; my home was no longer. I am in a building, unable to make out what kind, I call out for my husband and children again, and again to no avail. The loud screams of women, children, and men young and old all around me; carrying their babies in their arms. Some missing a leg or an arm. Others, their brains had been crushed from falling debris. Finally, I make it outside and, in an attempt, to breathe in the air, I choke on the dust. Sending me into a coughing fit. Gunfire surrounds me. We were surrounded militia. Everyone was in a panic running around. Not knowing where to go or where they were exactly. Trying to come too from the explosion that had just rattled our souls. One by one dead bodies falling to the ground, a sniper from afar taking shot after shot. My ears still ringing from the blast. I am frantically looking around for my husband and children. I still can’t find them. I call out “Remi! Salish! Motaz!” My voice is raspy, from the dust that’s dried out my lungs. I try to scream their names, but nothing comes out. I have nowhere to go I spin around and then just there I focus and see a building just across the way. I make a break for it. Somehow, I am able to avoid being seen in the chaos. I reach the building and quietly burrowing myself down to a shell. I steady my breathing as the sounds outside remain. I pull my legs to my knees, “where are they?” I silently cry to myself. I close my eyes once more, and when I awaken again, I am in a hospital room. Panicking, I try and pull the IV out of my arm. “No, wait you mustin do that,” a nurse says to me, gently trying to calm me down. “Doctor!” She yells out.

“Where……. Where am I?” I ask her.

“Shh, it’s okay, you are safe. But I need you to stay calm,” the nurse says to me.

“Where is the doctor?” She calls out again.

Soon the doctor comes in.

“Ms., I need you to remain calm, it’s okay you are safe,” the doctor says.

“Wha…...what happened why am I here? Where is my family?” I asked him.

“I’m so sorry, I have regret to inform you that you have been in a coma for over a month,” the nurse says. “Your family…. they all died 2 months ago. You were found in an abandoned building during a night raid and were out into a medically induced coma.” The nurse finished.

“How? How do you know my family is dead?” I asked.

“Just one moment,” the nurse says. She walked out the room. A few moments go by and in walks the nurse, behind her my mother. “Oh, mama!” I exclaimed. We embrace one another. “They said I have been in a coma. IS that true? Have I been asleep for that long?” I asked my mom. My mother pushed back my hair behind my ear as she did often when I was a little girl, “oh my baby, it is true. You have been in a coma for over a month. They found you amongst the ruble from the night raid, barely alive,” my mama said. Confused, “I don’t understand?” I say to her. “Where’s my husband? Where are my babies?” I say choking back tears.

“Oh honey, I’m so sorry” she says holding me. Confused, I let go of her, wiping my tears from my face. “I…. I don’t….,” I begin to say. Then suddenly, my memories come rushing back to me. Our home, the kids playing in the back yard, my husband making dinner, evening prayer, and tucking our babies into bed. Me, falling asleep on my husband’s chest. To be awoken, abruptly in the middle of the night. Sirens going off as bombs were being dropped around us, our neighbors houses on fire. Gunfire breaking out in the streets. Soldiers came rushing into our home. I grabbed our Salish and Motaz, holding them closely to me. Trying to calm them down. “Shhh, shh, it’s okay, everything is going to be okay,” I say, as we are dragged out of our homes. More soldiers and tanks in the streets. Our neighbors bodies covering the roadway riddle with bullets. Some dying with their broken, mutilated children’s bodies in their arms. I pull my kids in tighter to me as we are shuffled out into the streets. The night is cold; we shiver as we await our fates. Trying to suppress my fear, I feel Remi’s hand holding mine. A soldier makes his way over and begins berating us with questions. Answering them to the best of our ability. Accusing us of harboring terrorists, my mind goes blank as Salish and Motaz’s faces are filled with terror and their cries grow increasingly louder. I try to keep them calm, but that only can hold for so long before they break. The soldier then grabs my husband and slams him to his knees, ordering Remi to put his hands to his head. I cry out, “No! Please don’t do this. We know nothing, we don’t know anything!” I try to say calmly trying to reason with them pleading for my husband’s life. Salish and Motaz pulling at my night gown. Their screams getting louder, the soldier orders me to shut them up, but I can’t. I am trying, I am trying so hard. “Shh babies please shh it’s going to be okay I promise it’s going to be okay.” I say to them. As I turn my attention back to my husband. Gunfire goes off, “NO!!!!” I scream out as a bullet is put into my husband’s head he falls to the ground. Salish runs over to his father’s side; he lays on top of him crying and screaming out for his father. Motaz is screaming, a soldier rips him from my arms and before I can grab him back, I feel a hard hit on the back of my head and everything goes black. When I come too, it’s mid-day the suns hot heat beating down on my face. I wince in pain. My head, I feel the back of where I was hit a knot, tender to the touch. I slowly pick myself up off the ground, dizzy from my head wound. I move slowly trying not to topple over. My eyes adjusting to the bright sun, I put my hand in front of my face, just above my eyebrow trying to block the sun’s rays until my eyes adjust to the light. Looking around, so many dead bodies. Friends, neighbors people I have known most of my life. Their children lying next to them bloodied, some had their heads bashed in, others were shot several times, but that was not the worst of it. Babies, small innocent babies bodies were hung up by their feet in the trees with their heads cut off by machetes. A wave of nausea comes over me, I try to keep from vomiting, but in my current state I have no more strength for self-control. I throw up, but only vile comes up. I dry heave for a few moments longer. I wipe my mouth, looking straight down the street towards my house, trying to focus my line of sight. The dizziness, spinning around in my head, I try and focus again. This time, I see something, someone familiar. As my eyes adjust from the dizziness, I realize I see the hand of one of my boys, Motaz. I scream out running over to him. Giving it everything in me not to stumble and fall. I collapse when I reach him. He was slightly covered with several dead bodies on top of him. I move the piled-on top of him pulling him out from the pile. Shaking him, gently tapping his face trying to get him to open his eyes, “come on baby. Please don’t do this please, breathe honey, please wake up baby, mommy is here. Open your eyes and look at me. Please!” I cry out. Trying to get him to open his eyes.

“Damn it!” I scream out. I put my ear to his chest, trying to hear a heartbeat, just like he liked to do when he would lay on my chest sometimes before bed. Listening to the sound my heart beasting calming his soul, a melody he heard for 9 months, but his, is no longer beating. I let out a blood curdling scream. Pulling him into my chest wrapping my arms around him. “Aww!!!! Why? My precious baby, why? Why did they do this to you.” I scream out. I look around trying to find his brother Salish. Picking him up and carrying him the way I did when he was an infant. I search for his brother and father. Calling out their names, looking around me and moving dead bodies. “We will find them honey don’t you worry,” I say to Motaz. Searching a little longer, I finally come across their bodies. Lying on top of his father, Salish’s small, fragile body covered in dirt and blood mixed, dripping down his face through his hair, just past his ears. He too, had been shot several times. Three times in the back and twice in the head. I laid his little brothers body next to his and his fathers. I grabbed them both holding them in my arms, sobbing, crying until I had no more tears left to cry. Until my body could no longer produce any more tears. Then I sat. I sat cradling them, singing them lullabies and talking to them as if nothing had changed. A denial from my grief. Once I was all out of tears and all out of conversation, I simply sat in silence cradling them tightly. Nightfall came and I still had not moved, while the night sky lit up with the bombs aftermaths, as gunfire broke out from afar. Still, I sat. When the morning sun rose again, I rubbed my babies faces with the back of my hand. Like I did when I laid them down for bed. “They look so peaceful when they are sleep,” I thought to myself. I carried them one by one to our home, digging three graves, in the hot summers heat, I buried my whole life. Sweat, blood and tears, three crosses I placed on each of their gravesites, with something special of theirs that they loved placed upon each grave. I say a small prayer for their souls, asking for forgiveness for I did not protect them as a mother should have. A guilt I will forever bear. I go inside, of what is left of our home. Pictures torn off the walls, our rooms were ripped apart, beds upturned, clothes emptied from their drawers. I look around to find some clothes, I wash the blood from my face, I find a backpack to put some crackers, bread, some fruit and a few water bottles along with medicine, and extra clothes inside. Walking towards the back door, I hear a crack under my foot I had stepped on a frame, I pick it up and turn it over. A photo of the four of us, most recently taken. I pull it from the frame, fold it up and place it in my pocket. I had managed to find the flash drive I had recently uploaded all our families photos onto. This would be the part where I walk away to go find help, but I found myself stuck, unable to move from this house, our home. Frozen in my grief, not wanting to live on without them. My whole world laying six feet underground and somehow, I am still here; why? Why me? I thought. I wait a little while longer before I tell myself to get up, it was time to go. There was nothing left for me here now. This was the hardest goodbye of my life. Leaving my family and all I love behind, in my faith death is not the end, but merely a meeting point, I know I will see them again. I make my way to the front door once again blinded by the harsh light, I blink a few times, as my eyes adjusted, I step out the door and I am back in the hospital room I awoken in. My hands placed over my face, all the memories from that dreadful night came rushing back to me. My mother holding me, “My baby, I am so sorry. I wish I could take your pain away,” she says to me. I embrace her, she is all I have left. The nurse, gently speaking up. “I’m…. I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she says, “um but Mrs. Rafa I wanted to let you know...,” She pauses for a second, “I know it may not be a good time, but I wanted to let you know you……. you are pregnant.” The nurse stutters out. Puzzled, a bit of joy moves over me. I gasped, “wh…. what? Ho…. how am I pregnant?” I replied. Quickly realizing that was a dumb question. “I mean, I know how I could be I just…. I just wasn’t expecting to hear that is all,” I say caught off guard, in a bit of a shock from the news.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause for an upset. Its standard for us to run several tests when we bring everyone in from the field, one being a pregnancy test in case we need to perform surgery and make the proper adjustments to not cause harm to mom or baby and in you case, yours came back positive. We performed another test just to confirm what we knew, and it came back positive again. You are very much, positively pregnant,” the nurse said. My mother was crying tears of joy. Embracing me in a tight hug, I couldn’t help but feel a bittersweet feeling was looming over me.

“Now that you are awake, we will need to perform an ultrasound on you to make sure everything is okay.” She says to me.

“Yes, of course that’s fine,” I replied. An hour later the doctor came in placing a cold jelly like lubricant on my belly and placing the ultrasound wand on the gel and began to move it around. “Just over 3 months pregnant,” The doctor says, pausing as she moves the wand again over another part of my belly. The machine pointing towards her, her face lit up with a smile, “well Mrs. Rafa looks like we have a set of twins,” she happily says to me, as she turns the monitor around to show me Baby A and Baby B. She turns the sound on so we ca hear their heartbeats. Two strong hearts beating together. Holding my mom’s hand, I begin to cry tears of joy as I embrace her hug once more. “Twins, oh my gosh, I can’t believe it. It’s a miracle, thank you! Thank you so much!” I say to the doctor.

“Congratulations! I will have the nurse schedule you to be seen again, in another month or so. This is exciting news. Congratulations again Mrs. Rafa,” the doctor says gently squeezing my soldier before she left the room. The nurse follows behind. When the room is quiet, I can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of sadness. My joy, turning to guilt as I try and wrap my head around everything that has happened these last few months down to this moment. My family no longer here to bask in this joy with me, torn from me in the most brutal, horrible ways possible. Survivors guilt and now these babies being robbed of never knowing how wonderful, loving and remarkable their father was. Or how funny, witty and charming their older brother Salish was. How gentle, kind and creative their little brother Motaz was. All these things I can show them and share the memories I hold deep in my heart. I once asked myself why me? Why was I saved, left here alone, while they were ripped from me. This here, this right here, those two tiny heartbeats are the reason I was spared that traumatic night. My purpose in life was not yet fulfilled and I know that now, for when I close my eyes, I see their faces smiling back at me letting me know they are at peace.