Ali, San Antonio, TX, @abbasrowshan._ -
'I heard the state trooper talking to my brother at our front door from the other room. He said mom had died in a car accident near Beeville, Texas. She left the family two years ago, I hadn’t seen her in two months.
For three days I was numb.
The fourth day all I could get down was a single piece of toast. The day of the funeral.
In a muslim burial, the body is washed by family or friends of the same gender and wrapped in veils. When I entered the room, only her pale gray face was exposed. I knelt down and hugged her. A river of tears went down my face, I kissed her on the cheek and just held her. I spoke to her, told her I was sorry she had to leave so soon. When my family had said all goodbyes, we lifted her body onto a stretcher and carried her to the grave. Below in the dirt lay a white wooden box with no top or bottom, exposing the earth below. My brother and I climbed down. Others from the mosque helped us lower our mother’s cold body into the box. Once we climbed out, a concrete slab was placed over the box. The grave was filled with dirt, then decorated with rose petals and bouquets of flowers.
The funeral process is an intimate one. Sometimes it felt like I couldn’t do it, like I wanted to run away, but I only get to bury my mom once and I wanted my last goodbye to be special.'
The pictured shirt is the last gift Ali received from his mother.
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