Dear Melissa, friends and colleagues,
What is life? I often wonder. Is it the joyful moments that we live with friends and families, or is it the sorrow, pain and grieve we live when we lose them; it is all of that and much more.
Today is a hard day for all of us, it is much easier to mourn in silence; where tears are the most appropriate words. But silence or not, we all appreciate being here together, sharing each other’s silence, words and thoughts for Rahnel.
We are grateful that fate made our paths cross, and will always cherish the moments we shared with him. . We were lucky to have known him unlucky to lose him,
Palestinian poet Darwish once said:
I have no role in what I became or will become...
It is luck. Luck has no name
We might call it the blacksmith of our fates
call it heavens postman
call it the carpenter of the crib and the coffin
or call it the custodian of gods in legends
in which we wrote the texts for them
Our friend, colleague, and more; Rahnel, lived life to enjoy it. Never intended to hurt anyone, and he never did. I could share many memories of laud laughter, childish banter, and innocent jokes I had with Rahnel, but I know I am not unique in that, because that was our Rahnel, funny, bubbly and full of life and all he wanted is to share that joy with people around. And I think he would be happy to know that we are here sharing that joy and love.
Many have asked me if he is now at peace, or if he is in heaven looking down at us? What do I know! I know nothing, except that we have lost him! And we are now looking at photos of him, he is smiling and we are grieving. I could say that I hope he is in heaven, but honestly, I hope he is here with us.
Every time I sit for handover I look over my shoulder hoping that he will be rushing through the office door, marching the long corridor, spreading his nice scent, wide smile, mumbling curses and excuses for running late.
I look at the door, patiently, and wait,
tears racing to my eyes looking for him, and wait,
the piercing pain in my chest as my heart searches for his presence, and wait,
my voice struggling in my throat trying to say his name, and wait,
seeing his face every time I close my eyes, and wait,
wishing he will walk through this door again explaining why he was late, and I wait.
We can turn our back on tomorrow and live yesterday, but I choose to be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday. We can remember him and only that he is gone, or we can cherish his memory and let it live on.
My dear Rahnel, your texts to me often were “I missed my train, I am sorry I am late”, and today I say to you: I am sorry you went really early, and we miss you.
Ahmad Baker
