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To Mesut Hancer and his daughter Irmak

 

Mesut Hancer clings on to Irmak

I don’t know you, Mesut Hancer Sir, but my heart goes out to you. How painful it must have been to hold Irmak’s cold, lifeless hand through the wreckage. How heavy her little fingers must have felt. How you must have yearned for one little sign of hope. To hear her voice again. To feel her palm wrap around your index finger one last time.

15 years of her life you held her close, protecting her, guiding her, ushering her through the crazy, cruel world. And yet on this day, this dreaded sense of helplessness creeping in through the corner of the door….

This is a moment every parent dreads, and it is a nightmare you are having to live.

There are no words to console, nothing can be said to make things right. To make the day a tad brighter. To numb the pain. To stop that hollow feeling in your chest. Time? Time’s healing power is overrated.

We look through the window and find our eyes moist. But you, my poor Sir, you are living that terrible dream that wakes us up in the middle of the night, breathless and in despair, scrambling for a glass of water.

It must be like walking through hell. Strolling barefoot over broken glass scattered on the ground. The air unbreathable. The sky overcast. Grey and dark.

To find the light of your life gone and gone forever. And to feel the helplessness of a parent, a father. To feel weak. Incapable of protecting your life’s most precious possession. For the father needs his child as much as the child needs his father. They are both feeble without each other’s warm embrace.

What is the value of life without someone worth living for? And yet we fail to decipher how brittle life can be. We chase material dreams and forget the fragile bonds that hold us together. Until someone’s sorrow bursts the cocoon. Like a simple picture of a poor father clinging on to his dead daughter.

It throws my life into perspective too. As I drop my child off to school, my fingers linger on his little hands a little longer. I reach ahead of time to pick him up. My heart melts when he rushes out the door with a big beaming smile. I hold his hands a little tighter, refusing to let go, as we head home.

What is life’s worth without the one you are willing to die for?

I don’t know you, Mesut Hancer Sir, but my heart goes out to you. My heart weeps for Irmak. I hope you both find peace. 

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