For those of you who remember the story about the lady with the liver disease, my friend Minara… She died yesterday. Approximately five or six months pregnant, she lost her baby about a week ago. Since then Bangladesh has been hit with a bad storm, and the area where she and her family live has suffered damage from fallen trees and severe flooding. They were forced to move into a neighbor’s home because of the potential for their house to collapse, and during that time, she became very weak. From what I understand, the land around their house is still submerged.

A loss like this creates confused emotions. I called her husband, and he asked over and over how I am, and how my family is. I asked about his family, but I already knew how they are. I asked about his plans for his four little children, but I already knew he doesn’t know what to do. Pray, he said.

The grief has dwelt with them the last three years during which the cirrhosis of the liver took its course. In 2016, when I first met her, she had been recently diagnosed. 2016 to 2019… three years of sorrow and wrestling and wondering… Wondering how long she had, wondering what would happen to her children… and, for her, long minutes of pain and discomfort. Now her suffering is over, and the grief is for her family.

Her husband says, pray for the little one, Tariqal. He cries, his father says, and then he goes back to playing. Don’t we all?

Life goes on, and in it, there is a bit of joy. Minara suffers no longer, and the supreme secret whispers in the bottom of our souls… It is promised. We will see her again.