2nd Lieutenant in England in 1951
I have been thinking about the conversations I would have had with you over the past ten years since you left us. Sometimes I have wondered: what would Daddy have said? Sometimes: Did you see his latest Tweet? And these days, it is: It’s a good thing you are not around.
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It was 5:30 a.m. I was trying to catch some sleep after Fajr morning prayer, when it went quiet. So quiet I could hear it.
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For the first time in five months, we saw our children and grandchildren in person
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He was gone! Shelter-in-Place had been in effect for two days when I ventured out to get some vegetables from the street vendor . . . . He was not there; not him, not his cart. Maybe he is sick.
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Walking the streets of New York City at noon, one is likely to come across a road-side vendor taking a break from handing a bag of lettuce and tomatoes to a customer, and standing on a piece of cardboard—a flattened out carton—with his arms folded, head bent in prayer.
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Watch what I did yesterday and tell me if I should get tested. “Khalid, I am stepping out to get some milk and tomatoes,” I told my husband. “I will come with you,” he said. I took all the precautions public health officials are telling us to use.
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Yesterday my husband and I had our first drawn-out argument. We seldom argue. I’d say we rarely argue. When we do, it’s about stuff like: does this bowl go in the top or bottom shelf of the dishwasher? One of us generously yields; discussion over. Not this time.
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