Release.

I'm a private person when it comes to my personal life to the extent that I hardly ever reveal my problems to anyone. I find it's better not to speak about it as I don't want to burden anyone with my issues, after all everyone has their own problems to deal with, right? But I need a release. I need to talk about it. This, for me, is the perfect place to do so.

My grandad. The strongest father figure in my life, besides my own father. A teacher of life, of humanities & of Islam. An advocate for education, status of women and importance of family. My grandad, the most loving man I've ever been blessed to know.

September 2013, diagnosed with liver cancer. Our family had never dealt with serious illess before, and so no one really knew how to react. He was the strong one. Convincing everyone it was ok, trying as hard as he could to remain as active as possible. My grandad, the most lively 70 year old I know. I remember speaking to him before he got diagnosed, I asked him to tell me about his life. For some reason I wanted to know specifically about his youth, and how he handled the '72 exile from Uganda. I wanted to know everything. Every detail. Slowly, after various phone calls he revealed everything, and I was hooked. Hooked on his story. His youth had been so anarchic, filled with so many memorable moments both good and bad. I remember thinking how little comparison my life has had to his, how much he celebrated the world and how little I did, how much he made of opportunities no matter how little or seemingly insignificant. My grandad, forever inspiring.

February 2014, terminal. The cancer had spread to his spine and robbed him of his mobility, leaving him paralysed and unable to walk again. This broke me. Seeing someone who LOVED and craved the outdoors bedridden and never again able to walk made me so sad and angry and forever questioning the unfairness of life, but at the same time thankful that he eas still here. More time. Thank god. All we needed was a little more time.

May 2013. The weekend before my first, A2 exam. He'd been rushed for surgery, which left him not only more physically constricted but also put him in a delusional state. He was completely stripped of his physical and emotional capabilities. Vulnerable. He lived 4 hours away, but I knew if this was it and I'd never gone to see him I'd regret it for the rest of my life. The last time I saw him was back in February. Cancer spreading, but happy and smiling. My grandad, the most hopeful man with unshakeable eeman.

I remember everything about this day. My auntie had just come over from Kenya to see him, because of the same reason. Everyone was convinced this was it. We went together completely clueless about who we would see lying in that hospital bed. There he was. Lying there. A bag of bones. My grandad. I hugged him and I didn't want to let go. He felt so different. Anyone who knows me, knows how awkward I am with affection. Not with my grandad. I was an extremely shy little girl living in Nairobi, but whenver I'd see him I'd run to greet him with a hug, regardless of who was watching. They were so warm and comforting, and that never changed. He recognised me, of course, how silly was I to think he wouldn't recognise me. But, I hardly recognised him. He'd lost so much weight, and his legs looked liked pencils buckled to the end of the bed, stiff and lifeless. He said he needed to pray, he didn't want to delay his Salat. I watched as he struggled to get out of the bed. He'd forgotten he'd lost all mobility in his legs. I watched. Holding back tears, I tried to explain that he couldn't get out and it was best for him to stay in bed. He said to me ''I've been thinking, when I'm well enough I'd like to take the whole family to mount Kilimanjaro''. His mind was still in Kenya. He thought he was in Kenya. He didn't know where he was. My grandma pulled me aside and told me they'd been going along with his stories, saying 'yes' to whatever he proposed, they needed to keep his mood up, they needed to keep him happy.

My grandma. The strongest woman I know, besides my mother. I looked at her, face sullen, sunken posture, but she was the one keeping it together. Behind every great man is a great woman. Together, they had survived the exile of Asians in Uganda 1972 by president Idi Amin. They had survived coming to Kenya, with nothing. They had survived building a business and a home from scratch. They had survived rasing a family of 8. They had survived Kenya for 29ish years, and God had blessed them. Made everything work in their favour for those 29 years of Kenyan comfort. Then they came to the UK and started it all over again.

July 2014, care home. Waiting. This has been the most emotionally draining month I have ever experienced. "There's nothing more we can do". Palliative care. Everyone has made peace with it now. No one can bear to see him in the state he's in. The strongest man I have never known, reduced to a bag of bones in under a year. Tell me. Have you ever seen someone disintegrate so quickly? Tell me, if you have, how do you emotionally process this? Tell me. Tell me.

Ramadan was a blessed month, and I used so much of it praying for him. Making dua that he's put out of his misery.  Because it's not fair. Allah tests the one he loves, and my grandad has been through so many trials in his life I can't even begin to explain, I just pray constantly he passes this final trial.

He taught me my first Surah. He taught me how to pray. He encouraged me to recite the quran. My grandad. Without him, I really do doubt I'd have a strong eeman and for that I am forever greatful.

My grandad.