Since my dad’s passing, I’ve been hearing what a legend he was. He was—no room for doubt in that. Unfortunately, as is the case with most legends, his legacy has died with him. I respected him, of course, as my father and a man with ambition and conviction, sometimes to his own material loss. This part I never disagreed with. Please stand up and make people take seats when it is a cause or work you believe in. I will always admire that about him and be grateful to him for passing on that sense of duty to us.
Our conversations as a family revolved around his work or the state of the world. He made us care. When I was younger, it bored me. When I was a bit older, it gave me something common to talk with him about. As an adult, I started caring about the world and what happens to it.
He is one of the very few people that I know of who built nearly an empire within his own right. His purpose and drive did not give him time to worry about what he could not do; he did what needed to be done. Abba Jan’s job was not just a job to him. That was his purpose in life. He wasn’t in it for the money. I know he liked the money, but he started this because he was passionate about the work. One does not succeed in life running after money. It’s the love of making a difference, the love of making a change, that gets one somewhere in life. The rest of the good things follow.
Call me biased, but I would also give much credit to my mother. She stood by him through thick and thin, even when the world thought they were not together. She was why at the end of his life, all of us siblings had surrounded our father and given him all the love and support he could need. We knew this was what she would want. If she were alive today, she would take care of him around the clock. I mention her because his story, at least to me, is not complete without her. Because my story cannot start without both of them.
I knew long before he ever fell ill that we will not have another Abba Jan in the family anytime soon that’s why I wanted to preserve his life in my writings. I have been working on writing about his life for some time now. I used to talk to him whenever I would get a chance. Conversations about his past, his early days with my grandparents. His college life. He used to talk about his time in the U.S when my siblings were young. Ninety plus years and it feels like the story wasn’t done. There are so many more questions left unanswered. So many more parts of his life unexplored. But I wont stop exploring. We have much to learn from his life. There are all sorts of lessons if we look carefully.
However, yesterday access was denied. You see I’m used to doors being closed on me and being told that I don’t belong. I’ve never been afraid to carve my own path. Let me explain, I went to my father’s house yesterday, I apologize, I meant his wife’s and his son’s house. An armed guard told me that I was not allowed to enter. They own the house they have every right to decide who enters their property and who doesn’t. I wasn’t interested in the house, or the people inside (although it would have been nice to see my younger brothers after our father’s death). I was interested in my father’s life. In his history. My history. My mother’s history. Our family’s legacy.
A message was sent to me that they will send his things to us. No timeline, no dates, no mention of what things. I don’t want some “things” sent to me. I want to be able to look through his office. I want to be able to pick through the pens he wrote with. The framed awards. His memoirs about his childhood with my cha-chas. The pictures he had of the family. Pictures with his friends. I know he has so many with people that have been calling and messaging us. I would have loved to share those with them. I want to look through his bedside table and find those little nicknacks that he used claim were “just emotional hang ups” and said he didn’t believe in keeping but still kept. I want his medical research papers. Did any of you know that Abba Jan has books on Psychiatric and Psychological theories that are obsolete now? One can imagine the historical and academic value of those.
They can send me “stuff” but I don’t want stuff. I want those memories. I want his life’s work that I know he wouldn’t want to end up in boxes or back of the shelves. So how do legends die? Legends die when their names are disgraced by those who value money more than family and human beings. Some may say I’m doing the same thing. I’ve done my time staying quiet. First, I was quiet for my mother. Then I was quiet for my father. Now, people are no more. And I’m tired, exhausted.
I’m freeing myself from it all. I have no strings on me.
All we have left now is history, the memories. No one lives forever. The only thing we’re taking with us is what’s in our hearts.
Anyone who has ever closed doors on me has not realized that I have never wanted to go in because I wanted material objects. I was coming to make connections and build relationships. I see an outpouring of love from everywhere. I see friends and family and even old colleagues talking about Abba Jan in a way that shines a unique light on him every time. They can be my memories and history. Nothing compares to the feeling of knowing that this is where I come from.
I am free. I have no strings on me.
Alhamdulillah
Allah keeps teaching me this lesson time and again that nothing is more important than good friends and a loving family.
I am free. I have no strings on me.
Alhamdulillah.
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To Whom It May Concern 