~
I came to terms a long time ago that he was dead. In August of 2021, when the United States withdrew their military operations from Afghanistan, Baba Ayaan—my grandfather, like thousands of other Afghans, fled in desperation to the Hamid Karzai International Airport in Kabul with the hopes of escaping the Taliban takeover. At 60 years of age, he rushed me—his 4-year-old grandson, to the perimeter wall of the airport. Carrying me with his last will of strength, he begged the U.S. marines for my safety. As his trembling hands released me to the soldiers over a barbed-wire wall, he faded away into the stampede ensuing behind him.
~
Standing by the entrance to his room, my body paused at the sight of his name on the door tag: Ayaan Aziz. Closing my eyes, the sounds of screams, the roaring of the C-17 cargo plane engine, the gunshots… It disappeared. My soul surrendered to a warm feeling that was forgotten a long time ago, the love of family.
Katherine cups my hands into hers. “Are you ready, Hashim?”
I nod, exhaling a breath as I enter the room. Their he was... By his bedside window, a frail figure sitting hunched over and motionless in his wheelchair. “Ba—,” My voice cracks, “Baba Ayaan?”
“He can’t speak, Hashim.” Katherine remains close.
I kneel beside him. A beam of sunlight shines on both of us, revealing the emptiness in his eyes. Holding his hand, I observe him, searching for my answer. In the pocket of his left breast, a small square outlines beneath the fabric.
“Hashim…” Katherine steps forward as I reach for the pocket.
“Katherine please…”
The photo is half bent. On the picture side, an image of a younger and heavier-set version of himself holding an infant in front of a house. On the blank side, a name and date is scribbled.
“Is it him?” Katherine asks quietly.
Kissing his forehead, I place the photo back in his pocket and whisper in his ear.
“No,” I turn to Katherine, patting her shoulder. “The photo is from 2021 and the name on the back is Maryam Aziz. I think it’s his granddaughter.”
“I’m sorry, Hashim. Do you think they were there that day? Like you and Ayaan?”
“They had to have been.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what did you say to him?”
Turning back to Ayaan, I take a few steps forward to roll down the curtain, blocking out the sunlight.
“I said the same thing I would have said to my grandfather: Thank you.”