Asia is gone. It is her second day, as they say. She died the morning of June 22nd, at 7am.
She had high blood pressure. Nothing could be done to save her. Her family tried. They took her to Pakistan. It helped, her nephew said. She was better. She could move her hand, smile. She could smile. Again.
Her soul will rest in peace. It has to. She was one of the best souls on this planet. God cannot do otherwise for her. Just cannot.
And she will be remembered, always.
I knew her since I was 4. She was a second cousin, a sister, a mother. I loved her very much.
Her home was one of the only places we visited regularly every weekend. She was always there for me and my mother. She was my mother's friend. She was my friend. She had this amazing capacity to reach out and understand anyone, irrespective of the age difference. She was my only real aunt, sister, friend in Kabul in those days.
She was a nurse by profession, and took care of many others but high blood pressure took her away. We would always ask her to stick to her diet, to take medicine on time, to not work too hard, to rest well, to take breaks but she was all about being for others, all her life, literally.
She worked for women in Kabul. She managed women shelters, or the health part of their lives or at times followed up with police cases and all. She used to cry at times, emptying the pain that she got from all those women in pain, just to remain positive enough to go back to them to help.
She never married, as is the traditional norm in Afghanistan. She became a second mother to her only brother's kids. She worked to care for them, to protect them, to ensure their education, their good upbringing. They became her life. She did not exist in all of that.
She was selfless. She has been by my bedside more than once. I don't even remember how many times. She was there, always, tirelessly.
My wrest hurt for more than 10 years, thanks to her :-) She twisted it by mistake. It had become chronic. I'd always complain to her when she'd ask how is my wrest. I'd blame her for twisting it, for the chronic pain and she'd laugh and say, at least you have something to remember me by. That pain is gone now.
My mother passed away 6 years ago. Asia was there before I knew it. She stayed with me throughout. She took care of me and all the people at the funeral. And I was not even by her bedside when she left us.
She was there on the day I got engaged. She came and the minute she came, she took things in her hand, arranged everything. Not knowing many parts of the ceremony, I had left many things undone. She went twice to the market, herself, to make sure we had the right things. She stood there, with tears in her eyes as I wore that ring. She hugged me and kissed me and was happy.
She was fun. She loved to dance. She danced at my wedding, all three nights of celebrations. I asked her if I could gift her a dress, she refused to take it. She said daughters don't gift mothers stupid. I can take care of myself.
I saw her last at some wedding, in a shiny dress, some dark color, either dark blue, brown or black. Smiling face. Short hair. A warm hug. Just home.
There wouldn't be a single soul untouched by her, of those that knew her. She lives in many hearts, forever.
With love.
End.