August 2008: Istanbul, Turkey. We had moved from our home in Bahrain, thousands of miles away with the hope of Sami doing better in a better hospital with the latest treatments. Sami died September 15, 2008, from Osteosarcoma.
Sami and I used to take daily trips via a hospital-provided shuttle for about a half of every day to go to the hospital. Sami was taking radiation therapy for lesions on his lungs. We were tired doing this every day, but this very day Sami had woken up looking so peaceful, and while we were in the bus he held my hand looking out at the beautiful Istanbul landscape and said, “I love these bus rides, they are so peaceful.”
What I remember the most is his face. Yes, he had lost most of his hair, lost a lot of weight and hardly looked like the guy I met, fell in love with, got married to, but to me at the moment he had never looked more handsome, beautiful and happy. We looked at each other and smiled; then, I put my head on his shoulders and briefly closed my eyes in an attempt to remember this moment forever, and I did. It feels like it’s etched in my mind and every time I close my eyes, I can remember him exactly the way he looked, how his hand felt in mine, how he smelt, and I even get a feel of the surroundings that day, the wind in our faces.
There is also a Arabic version there.
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