Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailies of life.(Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking)
There is a resonance in these words that perhaps all those grieving for a loved one feel. Every year, for thirteen years, we have written this note of remembrance for our father Anwar Saleem Ahmad on the anniversary of his death, in the pages of the newspaper for which he once wrote. And every year, the task becomes harder rather than easier. Time does not dull the pain of loss, but binds grief ever more tightly into your heart and soul.
In the years since our father’s untimely death, life has moved forward for us, in a way that life inexorably tends to do. There have been many moments of significance, moments where we wished more than anything for the comfort of his presence. But perhaps more difficult are the more mundane, everyday moments that trigger a wave of memories: the scent of his favorite flowers blooming, his favorite author’s work spotted on a random trip to the bookstore, his oft used words said by someone else exactly as he used to.
Life and circumstance remained a constant trial for our father. After losing his mother at the age of two, he was raised by his elder sisters, two indomitable women who raised him like a son and undoubtedly prepared him for the many challenges life would continue to throw at him. He graduated at the top of his class in the first batch of students to receive a Masters in International Relations from Quaid-e-Azam University, and then went on to top the CSS examination and join the DMG. In 1992, while posted in Sargodha as the Deputy Commissioner, a car accident left him permanently paralyzed from the waist down and restricted to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. This debilitating incident could have marked the end of his career, but our father chose to use it as an opportunity to prove his worth even further. After months of extensive physical therapy, with our mother’s unshakable support, he resumed his career in the civil service as additional commissioner revenue in Rawalpindi.
In September 1993, he started writing for ‘The News’, becoming a weekly contributor in 1994. He soon picked up a following of keen readers and remained a regular columnist for the next ten years, continuing to write up to a year before his death.
In 2000, our father was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, a cancer of the lymph nodes. With our mother by his side, he set about battling this new setback — as he had all other obstacles in life — with unwavering courage and strength; never giving up hope and never giving in to cynicism. It was this dreaded disease that finally took our father away from us, after an arduous, bravely fought battle, on 18 April 2005.
Today, more than a decade after his death, he is still remembered and spoken of fondly as one of the most honest, dedicated and hardworking civil servants in the country. In 2011, our father was posthumously awarded the Presidential Accolade for Pride of Performance, in recognition of his life’s work.
When remembering someone who is no longer among us, we tend to focus only on the positives and make the person appear flawless. Our father was not perfect, and was the first to admit it. As a person, as a professional, and as a parent, he was always candid about what he thought his shortcomings were. To him, life was a constant learning process, and if one stopped being cognizant of their flaws, one stopped trying to be better. To him, the world was to be viewed through a spectrum of perspectives rather than as a set of binaries, and without any sense of moral superiority. As we go through life in an increasingly polarized and unforgiving world, it is that quality we miss. In our lives, in our careers, in our role as parents, it is that quality we hope to emulate.
We love you Ba, and we will miss you always.
By Suraya, Saman, Maheen and Mariam Saleem Farooqi