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  • These two are my grandparents. They were married for over 50 years. Raised 7 kids from a house in Sylhet, Bangladesh. Kids who are now spread out all over the world. They had the pleasure of becoming great-grandparents before they passed away.

    She died on Shab-e-barat, the 15th day of the 8th month of the Islamic lunar calendar. Shab-e-barat roughly translates to "the night of deliverance."

    He died within a year just the day before Valentine's Day.

    She died before I started Journalism school. And he died just at the beginning of my second semester.

    I had just enough money and just enough time to go pay him a visit during winter-break. But I never did.
  • I called her Dadamoni. She was the first love of my life.

    She and I used to sleep with our noses touching until I was about 5. I miss her rough hands on my forehead and temple from the hours she would sit beside me whenever I had a fever. She would rub Vicks to relieve me of my headache and then take a break to rub Bengay on her knees which always ached.

    I miss the way she would laugh out loud at my stupid jokes. Jokes that I still make today.

    Few months ago, I went to Bangladesh; a few months too late. I went to their grave-site straight from the airport.

    They are buried next to each other.

    I stood there and joked with them about how he died just before Valentine's Day to go surprise her. I imagined her laughing just like she used to; and him being mad at me for not taking this seriously.

    I imagined them together underneath, chatting away for hours like they used to.
  • I called him Dadabhai.

    He would cry to me over the phone after she passed away, saying he has no reason to live anymore. I avoided talking to him because it was too painful.

    Out of sight, out of mind.

    Now I realize how selfish I was to let him suffer on his own.

    I should've visited him when I had the chance.
  • I should've taken more pictures of them. I wasn't yet a "photographer" then. I didn't have audio equipment.

    If I could have them back again, I would have hours and hours of footage.
  • Their death taught me to just get up and act. To do something before it's too late. Because opportunities and people won't wait forever.

    I should've went to see him.

    They still live on in me. Sometimes they are tiny versions of themselves sitting on both of my shoulders whispering to me, "don't hesitate, just do it."
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