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.