Let me tell you the story

Let me tell you the story of how we lost my father. It is a long one with many details and nuances. It is a painful one so forgive me if I gloss over a part of the story or omit it. I am not sure where to start with this story. Do I start with how he ended up in Kuwait? I don’t really know. Our do I tell you about how her courted my mother and built a life and family with her? Or do I fast forward and tell you about our summer that fateful year 1990? Or the decision to for us to leave and him to stay in Kuwait? There are the stories of the invasion. There is the story of the last time I saw him. So many stories. But most people want to know what happened, how we lost him and I will tell you what little I know of that story.

I will tell you about that day he was abducted. It was February 27, 1991 and it was two days after the “liberation” of Kuwait by American forces. My father was sitting down in front of our home. We had a ground floor apartment with a small porch. He was sitting having breakfast with a neighbor. A car pulled up and men, Kuwaiti militia, came up to the house and asked for him by name. He identified himself and he was beaten up and dragged to the waiting car. His breakfast and broken glasses left behind.

We know this because of the stories of the eye witnesses interviewed by the Red Cross. He was never heard off since. The rumors and the stories of his death, sightings in prison, sightings on the street haunted us as we tried to find him. They slowly fizzled out. We never spoke of him. We never knew how to. I grew up not knowing how to navigate the question about my father when asked. Sometimes I told the story to be confronted with the stupid questions of “did you look for him?” Other times I just said he had died.

We didn’t know that in silence we were burying him into the abyss of forgotten memories. But it is now time, and it will always be time, to bring him back. To look at his pictures. To tell his grandchildren and his children who he was and what he stood for.

Father, I don't know where you are but I know I carry you with me always. I no longer expect you at the knocking of each door, but I do expect you in my dreams and thoughts often. Happy Birthday.