Muath and Muhammad Rami Awad

Muhammad wouldn't sleep except in his father's arms, and all his requests were met, even the difficult ones. Two days ago, he visited me at my workplace near the Kuwait Hospital and told me he missed me. I was so ashamed, because he, not yet seven years old, came to visit me with his father, who always made sure to visit me at my work. Muhammad was killed with his brother Muath, their kind and honest mother, and my brother Rami. The missiles and shelling had no mercy on them. Since October 14th, they had been displaced by the bombing and destruction. As for you, Muath, I write your eulogy and smile spontaneously, without feeling the loss, because you are still messaging me, joking with me, chasing me, and breaking into my thoughts with your non-stop jokes and your words that make me run after you like a child. I am your uncle, and an uncle sees his brother's children as his support, even when they are small. I read the message you sent me on WhatsApp, telling me you were "fed up" and that we had a date for a tray of Nabulsi knafeh, which you loved and missed because of the war. You set that date just hours before you left, as if you were telling me you were going... going without hesitation. I am still mourning you, beloved of your late grandfather and your patient grandmother. You were all vitality, and forgive me that I couldn't bear to lift the death shroud from your face. I wanted to see you as I always saw you, smiling, not lying down with your eyes closed and your brows furrowed. Death, my beloved, was too much for your parents... so what can be said when it came for you, your uncle's beloved Muath.