My Sister's Death Still Echoes Inside Me

"I often think of my sister Rewaa as the "bride of heaven." She moved through our lives with a calm, light spirit—someone whose presence made everything around her feel warmer and brighter. I still remember her dimples, her soft smile, my Shelter of Arms, and her generous nature, always giving more than she had. My longing for her stumbles at the shroud that veiled her face, and at the soil that hid her fragile body—the grave."

"Minutes later, everything shattered. They told us, "Rewaa is dead." That sentence still echoes inside me. My mother collapsed in grief. My sisters screamed. Our house shook with pain. We didn't sleep that night. At dawn, we went to Al-Ahli Hospital. Behind a red curtain lay my sister's body, wrapped in white. Next to her was Fadi, her youngest, his small body still and swollen. He had followed his mother even into death."

Rewaa was calm and bright, remembered for her dimples, soft smile, Shelter of Arms, and generous nature, always giving more than she had. She was the closest companion who shared every stage of life from childhood laughter to adult burdens. She disappeared on the night of July 25, 2025, after a bombing struck the building where she and her children stayed. Family rushed to Al Ahli Baptist Hospital and initially heard she was injured and receiving blood. Minutes later they were told she had died. At the hospital her body lay wrapped in white beside her youngest, Fadi, who had followed her into death. The narrator lifted her shroud, called her nickname, and received only silence where daily plans and warmth once were.

Read at The Nation