ayman kaake

My dad died twice:

The first time was four years ago, when I received a call from my brother in Lebanon. He told me my dad had passed away. I stayed in my room for three days, in shock.

The second time was when I went back home after six years and did not find him waiting for me at the airport, not sitting on the table with us, his bed, his television, his book and even his shop weren’t there as they used to be.

I realised that we didn’t have a photo together. My dad left, and all he left me was a cloud.