Dear Baba,

Assalaamu Alaikum…! (You taught me to always greet first.) How are you doing, Baba?

…It’s been a long time. A long, long time.

I wrote something, you know. I wrote a journal about what happened to you. What happened to us. I wrote it in one night, Baba. I just sat down and all the words poured out of me. Just tore out of my heart and fell out of me.

I know you would have been worried. You would have told me to go back to bed then. But I think it was good for me, Baba. It hurt so bad. It still hurts. But don’t worry, Baba…I think it’s good hurting.
Mama read it first, and she cried. Then your big baccha read it, and she cried, too. And your small bachha…well, she refused to read it at first, because you know her – she hates to cry. But you know what, Baba? We had kind of stopped trying to talk about it. About you. Because it hurt. It hurts seeing Mama cry, my sisters cry. But it’s also relieving. Its hard to cry together, but it’s better too, you know?

It’s going to be published soon. I’m…I’m kind of scared, Baba. But when you come back…at least I’ll be able to say I did something! That I did something for you.

I know you would never ask me to do this. Actually, you would never want me to do this just for you. But it’s also for me, Baba. It’s also for Mama. And my sisters. And thousands of other kids like me. And fathers like you.
Would you be proud of me for doing that, Baba? I think so. I hope so. Because you taught us to do that, to lend a hand.

Baba, I hate coming home everyday to a house that doesn’t have you. I keep waiting to hear you whoosh the door open and sing your boisterous ‘Assalaamu Alaikum!’ I miss racing my sisters to the door to see who would be the first one to jump into your arms.

So, Baba…come back soon, yeah? I mean…its not up to you, I know. You would never have left in the first place then. You were taken.

But…come back soon anyway. Please?

Lots and lots of love,

Aymun