I am holding a framed picture of Miral in my hands. She is standing in a garden surrounded by blooming flowers but it is her smile that lights up the picture. She was nineteen years old at the time and was studying Economics at college. The photograph was taken two years ago. She was taken away from us exactly a year ago. Her smile fades into a blur as tears well up in my eyes. There is so much I want to tell her, so much I want her to know but she no longer lives in the house next door. She has another home now.
I had just come back from my dialysis session at the local hospital when I ran into Miral. She was home for her spring break and told me how wonderful it felt to relax and not worry about studies for a while. In return, I told her I was just relieved to be done with dialysis for the day. Having lost function in both my kidneys because of a rare disease, I had to have dialysis done three times a week. It bothered me that my life was dependent on a machine. I longed to be as free-spirited as Miral.
Miral and I became friends ever since we learned how to talk. She was always the confident, bold one while I would often hide in her shadow. Over the years we shared secrets, dreams
It was during a chilly, spring day that my life changed its course. I received a call from the hospital that a
There are many times when I want to talk to Miral but then I remember the sad truth. If I could go back in time and change one thing, it would be to keep her alive. Her stay with us was too brief but it was memorable and filled with laughter. She was the friend I imagined would I would grow old with. If I could talk to her I’d tell her of her parents’ generosity that gave me a new life. I would tell her how many people turned up at her funeral and how many miss her every day. She was a wonderful daughter, a loving sister and a generous friend. I long to see the person in the framed picture in my hand to walk through her garden and into my home for a chat like she used to. For
“I will always remember you, Miral.”