A Tribute To You

More than eight months have passed now, yet it feels like yesterday when I got this phone call from my mom telling me that she and my dad had arrived at Dubai to surprize me.

I was very sick then, and that was why they had decided to come earlier than they planned to in the first place.

They drove all the way from Kuwait, simply because my dad loves the road. I did too.

A couple of weeks passed by, and the Friday morning came when my dad decided to drive back home to Kuwait. He wanted my mom to go back on a plane; chena galba 7as. I remember him wearing an exceptionally white dishdasha; that was strange, because he usually wears pants and a shirt while traveling anywhere, even to Gulf countries.

Saturday morning, after coming back from the gym, I got this phone call from my mom; she was oddly quiet, but I know my mom's tone when something's wrong, I know it too well.

The wait at the airport was unbearable, especially when my sister and I had no idea what had happened. Coincidently, my aunt (whom we haven't seen since my late Uncle Saeed's funeral) was with us on the same plane. It was no coincidence after all. Seb7an Allah, el 3ayla matteyama3 ella 3ala el 7ezen.

The news was devastating.

I miss seeing you in the airport, waiting for me to come out of the baggage claim area.

I miss seeing you every morning, sitting in the living room, drinking your coffee with your cigarette tucked between your fingers.

I miss kissing you good morning, and kissing you good night.

I miss how we sometimes played pranks and acted silly; many of my friends don't have that kind of relationship with their fathers. You know what I tell them now? "7aram tara .. Betta7asefon."

I miss the way we made our "malaqa" jokes that we laughed hard at.

I miss seeing you get excited about making my mom her favorite sandwich that looked like it had to be eaten at some gourmet restaurant. I used to call you Chef Fawzi.

I miss how you smiled and your face lit up everytime I showed you my latest drawings, and how you always gave me suggestions to improve them. I remember the last drawing that I showed you on my laptop: it was of an old Kuwaity man drinking tea out of an estekana.

You loved it.

I miss everything that is you.

You simply emulate the true meanings of compassion and love; you are no ordinary father.

Today is your birthday - such a difficult date to go through.

اللهم اغفر له وأرحمه وعافه وأعفو عنه , وأكرم نزله ووسع مدخله , وأغسله بالماء والثلج والبرد , ونقهِ من الذنوب والخطايا كما ينقى الثوب الابيض من الدنس , اللهم ابدله دارا خيرا من داره , واهلا خيرا من أهله , وزوجا خيرا من زوجه , اللهم ادخله الجنه , اللهم ادخله الجنه , اللهم ادخله الجنه , وأعذه من عذاب القبر , اللهم أعذه من عذاب القبر , اللهم أعذه من عذاب القبر , وأعذه من عذاب النار , اللهم اعذه من عذاب النار , اللهم اعذه من عذاب النار .