Lost one(s)

22 Ramadan 1442

These days, I think a lot about the last words of Malcolm X’s mother, Louise Little, as recorded in his autobiography. Towards the end of her life, he describes her as being in her own world of thoughts, unable to recognize her son. He says,

“I asked, ‘Mama, do you know what day it is?’ She said, staring, ‘All the people have gone.’”

Today, we began our fast with news that one of my dad’s closest friends, his dhosto, passed from COVID-19 in Dhaka, Bangladesh. My dad expressed how much he admired his friend for his lifelong integrity, his refusal of bribery and corruption while in positions of power, and his will to step away from those positions.

When all the dust settles—if it ever does—I feel like, in a ripple of single moments of recognition, the living will wake up from a daze realizing we are experiencing our own Endgame, and half the world is suddenly gone.


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