Monday, 13 February 2012

When are we going home?

The cancer was spreading rapidly. Your pain intensified, and the doctors had to put you on morphine. That's when I first felt that I had lost you forever. You were going in and out of consciousness, your speech became incoherent, and your thoughts were scattered. The only thing you repeatedly kept asking is, "wenta bedna nraw7 3al balad (when are we going home?)", and all I could say to you is, soon... when you get some rest, we will go home.

#LoveUnderAparthied is not being able to give the person you love the things that they want.

My father Mamoun Husain, came to the US in August of 2011 seeking medical treatment for pancreatic cancer after being misdiagnosed in Palestine. My father had to travel outside his own country to seek medical treatment because of inadequate healthcare in Palestine, and racist Israeli laws that prevented him access to more advanced hospitals in Jerusalem (which were only 40 minutes away). My father died on December 4th, 2011, his final wish was to die in his own country, in his own home, where he raised his family and grew old.

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