EMBRACING SILENT SORROW
In the quiet hours of August 5th, 2022, as dawn crept upon me, I stood in the sterile, unforgiving cold of the ER. I watched helplessly as the very essence of your life, once so robust and commanding, dwindled rapidly before my eyes. When they whisked you away to the defib room, I stood by, the door ajar, catching glimpses of your feet jolting with each shock—a sight that shattered me. Forty-five excruciating minutes passed, each one a lifetime, until the doctor emerged at 07:33 AM with words that shattered my world: you were gone. At that moment, I was frozen, every part of me screaming in disbelief as I lost all sense of reality.
Holding your hand inside the confines of the ambulance, a grim procession to the morgue felt like an eternity of torture. Your face, etched with an unnatural stillness, mocked my fervent pleas for you to wake. The minutes stretched into an endless, bleak desert, each grain of sand a fresh pang of sorrow. And then, the earth closed over you, burying a part of my soul with you.
Two years have passed, yet the wound remains as fresh as ever, the memories as raw as the day they were born. Your stories, Dad, reverberate in my mind as if you were here, narrating them once more. Tales of your youth, your pride in being the 40th to join the police force, your firsthand accounts of the pivotal moments in our nation’s history—from the unruly onslaught of Amin Didi to British negotiations for independence to the uprisings in the South. These tales, so vibrant and compelling, are etched into the core of my being. My greatest regret is not recording your experiences as grim and golden chapters of Maldivian history.
I can still vividly hear my siblings’ and neighbors’ laughter echoing through the yard as we played, all while you dutifully served in the police force. The unmistakable roar of your motorcycle would send us into a frenzy, causing us to scatter in all directions.
Even in your twilight years, hobbling with a cane, whenever the doctor gave you a clean bill of health, your face would light up with a proud blush. You’d break into a grin, showcasing your vigor with an impromptu display of bending and stretching, as if you were about to compete in the Olympics. Watching you attempt those athletic moves was both heartwarming and amusing—a bittersweet reminder of your relentless spirit, blending the vigor of your youth with the tender fragility of your age.
Your absence is an abyss that words can scarcely bridge. I ache for your presence, your wisdom, and the indomitable strength you embodied. On the previous day at the hospital, as the second septic shock struck in the X-ray room, I was there, holding you, placing you on the stretcher with trembling hands and a heart gripped by fear for your precious life. Yet, you never relinquished your faith in living. That night, in the ER, as the third shock took hold while I stood beside you, you clung to life with a tenacity that seemed both sacred and sorrowful. My very essence drained away as your courage stood as a poignant proof of the incredible spirit you possessed, even as destiny slowly pulled you away from us.
Dad, as I pour my heart out, it aches with longing and sorrow. Your memory, a heartrending reminder of the deep imprint you left on my life, is always with me. Although I failed to archive your stories, they reside within me, a silent homage to the extraordinary man you were.
With every ounce of my love and a heart filled with longing, I will persist in embracing silent sorrow.
Mahdi Ahmed 
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