It's so hard to tell the garbled, morphine-drugged voice on the other line, 8,000 miles away, "how I am." My chest is heavy and I try my best to keep my voice constant, because it's so embarrassing crying in front of my parents for the grandmother I never ask to call. But I can't hold it together and my brother stares at my tears like he's watching me cry for the first time ever.
How I am is not relevant when you are the one dying, it's not relevant when I know nothing about your life except for the fact that you gave birth to my father and it's certainly not relevant when I say my prayers for you, but not to the best of my ability.
Astagfirullah.
How I am is not relevant when you are the one dying, it's not relevant when I know nothing about your life except for the fact that you gave birth to my father and it's certainly not relevant when I say my prayers for you, but not to the best of my ability.
Astagfirullah.
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