Still With Me

This short story got published in an anthology called "Miracles & Extraordinary Blessings" - 2014. 

It was quite ironic that my husband, sisters, and I were watching a comedy when the phone rang. My husband’s cheerful face suddenly turned pale after he answered my dad’s call. “What’s wrong?”  I asked. 

“Nothing.”  My husband disguised a cool and composed look in front of me.  He became awfully quiet then rushed to the bathroom for several minutes.  I had a nagging feeling that something was terribly wrong. 

I was nine months pregnant with my first child.  Besides the agony of riding a rollercoaster of temperamental pregnancy hormones that took me by surprise, it did not help that I was the only one clueless.  My family remained tongue-tied.  They feared depression would induce my labor, but they merely fed the holes of anxiety in my heart with confusion and alienation. 

After constant begging, my sister finally broke the news to me: Aunt Foziya passed away.  I bathed several times during the day letting the water in the shower muffled my cries.  No wonder my husband kept disappearing in the bathroom while we were happily watching comedy.  With great struggle, he was freeing the sickening feelings - he skillfully wore in front of us. 

Only a week earlier, my dear aunt sat next to me on the blue sofa in my home and said, “I hope you give birth today.”  I was frightened by her comment since I was not due yet.  I later understood that she was destined to utter these words.  She would never see my child after all.  The last present she bought was a beautiful gold bracelet with black precious stones for my unborn son.  It was believed to protect infants from envious eyes. 

Aunt Foziya was a strong and beautiful lady.  She suffered from asthma for most of her life.  Even with her deteriorating condition, she was more than capable of managing all the affairs of her home and school - she was a school director. Unfortunately, the cortisone her doctors prescribed gradually doubled and tripled her weight, leading to a series of other illnesses.  She tediously climbed the summit of Mount Everest every time she breathed and moved.  It broke our hearts to watch her suffer.

My beloved aunt never married nor had any children.  She considered me her daughter.  When I was a child, she was the only grownup who allowed me to teach her a foreign language.  She even patiently answered the tests I created for her.  She once looked at me with eyes full of sympathy and said, “You’re sensitive just like me. Balance your vulnerability to protect yourself.” She managed her sensitivity quite well by laughing at herself and spreading soothing and contagious smiles to our hearts.  When my sister remarked about herself that she was old, my aunt replied, “If you’re old, then I belong in a museum.”   

The smoky, enticing aroma of green lentils, pasta, rice, caramelized onions and tomato topping, danced around my aunt’s home whenever she anticipated my visit.  My favorite Egyptian dish ― Kushari ― along with a Singaporean vegetable noodles ― awaited me.  My seat was always reserved next to her on the sofa.  After I got married, my husband and I visited her more frequently.  I bought her a huge box as a surprise and filled it with religious CDs, inspirational novels, designer perfumes, and dates.  I wrote her a letter ― my first attempt to share my writing with family.  She cried happy tears.  I told her we should meet weekly to discuss the novels and listen to the stories and songs in the CDs.  Unfortunately I was bedbound, as my pregnancy took a toll on me.  The regular visits never occurred.

In my religion, seeing the dead in dreams was considered real divine dreams ― a blessing from God. This explained my excitement when I dreamt my sweet aunt as a little child falling down, shortly after her death.  Mom said, “To God she was an innocent child and this was exactly how she died, tumbling like a child.” 

My dear aunt visited me again after I gave birth in hospital. I dreamt her grave was ajar and her eyes were wide opened.  I screamed in horror, as it dawned on me that she was really gone. When I woke up, I was washed with light relief. God understood how miserable I felt. He brought her to me and showed her my baby. She saw my son after all.  

I began to look forward for her “visits.” The miraculous messages she brought me from heaven became more constant in times of trouble and dire need. God sent her to me in my sleep. Even after death, she was still alive within me and aware of all the difficulties that surpassed me.

I could never forget the time I spent the whole day getting rid of my things. These tangible objects held many painful memories. I decided to give them away to charity instead of trapping them in cupboards and drawers. It was a painful task since I had a bad habit of attaching myself to the past. Though not ideal, it made me feel secure. Some time had passed since I had seen her in my dreams. I prayed to God to make me stronger and pleaded with him to let me see my aunt once again in my dreams. I also whispered conversations to my aunt in the process. I told her how much I loved and missed her. 

The next morning, my sister called me. She said, “I dreamt Aunt Foziya said that you were asking God to see her and then you sat with her in her living room and had a private conversation.” 

Tears formed puddles on my cheeks and drenched my dress. My prayer was granted. God’s mercy engulfed me at every twist and turn in my life. Sunshine beamed at me in the form of my beloved aunt. She cleared the fog of ambiguity from the mirror of my days by illuminating my path.  She was still with me through my sister’s dream. 

 I gave birth to my daughter before my son turned two. My husband and I were delighted. We could finally name her Foz ― short for Foziya. Whenever I called my daughter’s name, I felt my aunt’s presence. 

 While I was pregnant with my second daughter, my friend asked me, “Why don’t you name her Fay? You already have Foz.  Both names would be cute together.”  I considered the name, but I was still in doubt. My mom told her sister that I was thinking of calling my daughter Fay. To my surprise, my aunt dreamt her sister, Aunt Foziya, asked why I was hesitant. In Arabic, Fay meant shade; a word that symbolized what she provided for us when she was alive – she was the shade of our family.  The answer was in my tears. I decided to name my second daughter Fay. I was truly blessed that all my children carried a piece of my dear aunt with them.  My son wore her bracelet and my daughters shared her name. 

When I catch a glimpse of the comedy I watched the night she died, a melancholic cloud wraps itself around me, but soon it condenses into sweet raindrops, showering me with blessings. The comedy reminds me of her sense of humor, which paints the brightest smiles on my face.  Her lively “visits” made her play a significant and endless role in my life. My aunt was with me all along. She never left.