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  • Writer's pictureSaira Sufi

Chicago be mad cold

Cicero. Midway. Dunkin Donuts. Yet, Chicago will never be the same without you, Shahinda Baji. I finally can feel my feet after the burial and I am smiling thinking about your lovely daughter worrying about little Zayd being traumatized rather than focusing on herself. Probably not the best idea to scream at the top of my lungs while at an airport but that’s what I want to do. I want to be able to take Aplastic Anemia, cancer, chemotherapy, radiation, ventilators and fucking make them disappear. Yeah, there it is, Zahir. I cursed. Happy? Walking into your house Shahinda Baji with the familiarity of Sufiness and hearing Rafia Baji, Zaheer Uncle and my dad speak Punjabi made me so want to have you tell me stories about their shenanigans in Gulberg. Seeing a few of my cousins that I saw as newborns now expecting children of their own and watching your body lowered into the ground made me realize how true it is, to Allah we are born and to Allah we return. After Hadi’s ghusl (cleansing of the body), my brother Amir hugged me and told me that he looked beautiful. And honestly, he did. My amazing child had endured so much pain and it was/is comforting to know that he doesn’t have to worry about having to get a CT scan after the rec. therapist hits him in the head with a Wii controller (true story). Just the same way Shahinda Baji could rock that 80s hair like nobody else but she looked beautiful as she returned to her creator.

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