Fatma stood wearily in the kitchen trying to recollect herself. She could hear the low chatter coming from the living room where her children and grandchildren sat.
It’s time to go, she thought to herself.
As soon as she walked out of the kitchen with the tray of steaming, freshly brewed red tea, her oldest grandson walked towards her to relieve her slowly trembling hands of the tray. Despite her initial refusal, she grudgingly allowed him to take it from her, but not before instructing him to promptly distribute it to his aunties and uncles.
Realizing her pale hands were now empty, she looked around the living room to find something to occupy her racing mind, like a coffee cup that needed to be refilled or a grandchild to watch. Instead, she was met with sympathetic looks and soft smiles from her daughters as her eldest son urged her to “take a seat and relax, Umy.”
But she simply could not. Every time she did, she would feel the void in her heart that had surfaced late the previous night. She felt the release of tears from her honey-colored eyes; yet, she compelled herself to stay collected.
The sixty-five-year-old woman’s short build made it easy for her son to tower over her and lead her to a spot on the couch. As she sat, she brushed away a strand of her dark brown hair that had fallen on her hollow cheek. Looking down, she noticed her granddaughter, Shatha, who had seated herself next to her was absent-mindedly playing with a loose string of her dark blue kandoora that poked out around her thighs. It was her late husband’s favorite color, and she chose to wear it that day as a token of love for him.
“Umy, do you miss Baba Musabeh?” questioned the little girl innocently.
“Of course habibti. it’s only been one day and I miss him already,” Fatma replied calmly as a soft smile plastered across her round face revealing her wrinkled face. She gently stroked her hands through Shatha’s hair, her long fingers untangling the knots present.
“What are you gonna do now?” Shatha wondered aloud.
“Life moves on sweetie, and he will always be in my heart and yours too, and everyone else here, don’t forget that sweetie,” Fatma replied with care.
Her husband’s recent death laid heavily on her shoulders, but her family’s presence made the worst time bearable. She appreciated her family being there for her, and nothing in the world can ever replace that feeling. Nothing in the world will ever be more important to her than her family. She thought of the generosity her husband had instilled in her, and the affection she received from him that she now projects to the world. With a chuckle to herself, she recalled how he would always make her laugh from deep in her belly, unlike anyone ever has. The love she carried for him was present always, showcased in the small tokens of affection she offered to the people around her, in the form of cooking food or making them tea.
