Non-Fiction

He washes under cold water and his sins clog the drain. Blocks of black bakhoor burn by the mirror filling the bathroom with the scent of the Kaaba.

Today I will lay him to rest, scattering his ashes in this extraordinarily beautiful setting.

Here is nourishment, we tried to say, here is something to sustain the lives remaining, the hearts that still beat..

I wanted to plug my ears. I wanted to run away. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me…

I can’t do this. I can’t parent without him. I can’t hold this family together. I am failing them. I am failing everyone.

I long for that boring state of alignment that I can rely on sharing with those around me…

I used to teach.

I will always be a ‘daughter of’, though Mom and Dad are now gone. I will always be a wife and mother. I write too.

Count backwards from 100. I reach 97, then I’m gone. Off to dreamland, where sometimes dreams become nightmares that become reality.

When I was a little kid, my mom would sit on my bed and play with my hair or tickle my back as she tucked me in at night.