Dying life. Story Written by Fatima Issam Merisi

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I try with all my effort to save the largest number of injured people who come to our hospital in critical condition every hour from all different groups and ages, old people, young people, women, children and babies, a small baby who has no. even completed a week of age, and from room to room for a time to rest. It is not a work duty, but a humanitarian duty. How? To relax while people suffer pain and bleeding wounds. The hospital is not empty of pain moans; screams of women, and pressing of men. That scene is repeated often, and every day, the rooms are full of wounded, and also the corridors, and the morgue no longer accommodates the dead, and everyone is waiting their turn to cover their relatives. , some of whom do not receive from their relatives what they can veil, and because of the large number. For the dead, we no longer have enough shrouds for some. We have now wrapped the remains of one family in one shroud. My ; a heart is not made of stone before these scenes, but my duty requires me to carry and convey the news of those who are transported in critical condition and whose family is waiting for news of the miracle that he will recover after that. happened to him, but his life ends with injuries. Eloquently, before he even gets here
How difficult it is for you to be the one who delivers the news that shatters their hopes, and there is not even time to be able to comfort them, because the injured person after him needs help. Thus, I spend my work every day between saving those who can be saved, delivering sad news to the families of the deceased, and seeing the sadness on the faces there, and my heart breaks because of their distress.

One day, during my continuous work, I got a girl who was clearly beautiful. All children are beautiful in the eyes of the whole world, but this child will not recognize her appearance. She came to us with a torn body. One of her lower limbs were crushed. It seemed that any weak bone could not withstand the weight of what fell on it, no matter if it was a wall, a pillar or a stone. The rest of the body was full, not of; scratches, but with a shower of holes, and it is full of dirt and gravel, and in spite of some wounds of some kind, the child is still breathing. There is a weak pulse, but with the skill of a doctor. I know the girl will; not to live long, but I tried to save her with all the energy and effort I could, in spite of my awareness of the fact of some inevitable and inevitable death, and as I tried. Reviving her little body, she held my hand with one of; her very small hands. My feelings and some of my feelings moved with her and I turned to her and the little girl opened her beautiful eyes and stared at me. Then a hand loosened from my hand. Without realizing it, my eyes watered. The touch from her little hand on my hand stirred in me a feeling of fatherhood. I took pity on her and wiped the remaining tears and stood in front of the door. Which leads me out of the room that narrowed me, and the time; came because of the news that breaks the heart of whoever of its people is behind this door. I opened the door and I wish I hadn’t opened it. I wish I was lost in that room forever. I looked into the eyes from my wife who was waiting behind that door. I didn’t need to ask and she didn’t need to answer. What the eyes explained to both of us was enough. I felt at that time that my soul left me. My limbs froze behind. me behind that door. That child, who awakened my emotions and feelings for her, would be my daughter. My dear daughter, Hayat. Life receded before my eyes and I waited, unable to do anything for her. My daughter took her. last breath in my hands, which I so wanted to amputate. In that miserable moment, I quickly ran to my girlfriend, whom I called Hayat Timnin. I hoped that she would live a long life full of happiness, and that I would see; she grew before my eyes like a father’s dream. I looked at her with her torn and bruised body, and I replayed in my memory her last breath in my hands. It was destined for me to see the last look. From my daughter’s eyes while she waited, I hugged my little daughter. Whoever I was in her arms, I forget the difficulty of what we suffer: sadness, fear and fear in those days. In some scent, I used to find peace and comfort, but now I find only the smell of blood and death. My reassurance is gone and my comfort is gone. My tears flowed and my heart slept in a sleep with her. I wished I could. To take my life and give it to me is; loss of misery that destroys the soul.

A human call woke me from the sleep of my misery and suffering. I must forget my sadness and pain and go back to inspect the wounded and save as many as possible. I said goodbye to my little daughter last and deeply kissed her forehead. Goodbye. , life, your father is a bird of paradise.

Fatima Essam Merisi

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