When grief makes a home in you...

It's been weeks and I am unable to come to terms with your sudden and untimely death. My grief seems to etch itself into me, little by little. Everyday.
When I reflect back, I recall that I didn't see you in twenty over years - not once, but why is it that you seem still very much there beti...just outside my peripheral vision. 'Just missed' kind of feeling, like you just turned into the next street, overwhelms me all through my day. Flash backs of your life, our lives and our many conversations seamlessly enter and never leave my consciousness.
I realised that our memories become very cherished when someone, like you, makes a home in the souls of those who you loved and those who loved you back. I see things in far greater detail now than ever before.
My dear niece, Samreen, you were much more to me, and all of us, than we ever gave you credit for. You were the go-to person in the family.
There was a time in my life when I seldom called or communicated with anyone. You were my only contact in the family. I am sure there are others amongst us who feel equally proprietary about their kinship with you.
A little grief never hurts anyone. I feel your grief has made a home in me. Finally, I am getting to like carrying my most fond memories of Samreen, my favourite niece, all day. It is just that at 5am the flood gates of my eyes open. I drive knowing fully well that you are not there but talking to you as if you are seated right next to me. I cannot stop my uncontrollable sobbing and tears rolling down my cheeks. I feel it is the regret of all those years when I was here but never there for you.
A whole life of regret is in front of me and you are in the seat next to me - smiling. This will be some ride!

Samreen; how to let go of you?

I am her uncle and in this hour of grief for our family I don't know how to say that Samreen you touched our lives like no one else and meant so much to so many of us. You were gentle, loving, caring, sincere and most of all a tower of strength. My last phone call on that eventful day when I spoke to both you and your husband, Islah, plays itself again and again in my mind. The picture of your cream rolls that you sent me before you set out on that fatal road trip had etched itself in my memory. At the risk of sounding evangelical, I know that you are looking at us from high above -- in a heavenly abode. Say hello to Abbo for me. Give him my salam. He couldn't ask for better company.

Speaking of road trips, you were so often with me on phone on my way to work...and, if memory serves me right, I let you drive Asif's Suzuki FX in the ground beside Masid-e-Tayyaba. That was your first driving lesson. I can count innumerable instances when you were my sounding board. You never judged me and let me always be...me, the chotey uncle. What about all the times we discussed recipes or, more recently, we laughed out loud on the biryani that you made for Kaka in Sweden!
I am in denial Samreen. I just can't accept that you are not at the other end to answer my phone. That 'hello' followed by a cheerful 'Chotey Uncle' used to make my day.
Beti, you will never leave me...ever. You will always be beside me. In spirit and in essence. Ever since your accident, I don't know how many times I felt you seated next to me and talking to me like you always did -- with a smile and a hearty laughter. There is no question about missing you. I will never let you go. In tears, your Chotey Uncle.