Umy, I miss you!

I miss having you around me at home. I miss the feeling of being secure and safe, just for being close to you. I miss having a meaningful conversation with you. I miss teasing you by telling you about my journeys. My journeys which were normal, but you considered them crazy.

I miss seeing your name on my phone as a missed call. I miss receiving calls from you, checking on me and asking whether I need something. I always answered your calls as soon as I heard them. I never ignored a call from you.

I miss having the molokhia you used to prepare. How delicious it was! Unfortunately, mine never tastes as good. Even my brother isn’t good at making it. You were a molokhia-skilled cook.

Many foreigners don’t like molokhia when they try it for the first time. I believe it’s because not everyone can make a good molokhia. If they tried yours, they would change their mind.

Oh, and okra as well. Many aren’t fans of how slimy and gooey okra is. They didn’t try your recipes for okra: the green slimy one and the one with tomato sauce.

Whenever you cross my mind, I burst into tears, knowing that I lost you although you’re still alive.

Dementia is a robber. It robbed you of us, as well as of your own life. You’re here physically, but we have no idea what’s going on in your mind. You’re fading away bit by bit.

I’m sorry for breaking down and crying every time I visit you. It’s devastating to see you like that. You ask me, “What’s going on?” when you see me crying. I feel relieved that you don’t understand what’s going on although I feel you deep inside do understand, even if you couldn’t find the words to describe it.

Recently, I’ve been listening to a 1929 classic song. Whenever I play it, I think of you. It says something like; "When you intended to go away forever, why didn’t you say?"

Why didn’t you say you were leaving us bit by bit? You didn’t know, Umy. No one knew.

If I knew it, I’d make the most of my time with you. I would put an end to our fights and I would never swear at you. I would learn recipes from you. I’d ask you to tell me about your childhood and life in Aswan before marriage and in Luxor afterwards. I’d ask you to forgive me.

“I imagine you in my loneliness. I talk to you and I hear your voice. And when I am about to cuddle you, I found it was only my illusion,” The song continues.

I miss you, Umy!