'It's not what you have at the end of life, it's what you leave behind that matters'.–Stedman Graham

A couple of days ago I had told my parents exactly why I was completely and unquestionably in love with Madi, and why I could never imagine a life without her. I had not intended to open up as much as I did that day. I wasn't sure if it was because I missed her like crazy, and it felt good to talk about her. Or if it was the fact that even as an adult, I was still someone's child and craved my parents' approval of the woman I had chosen and who had chosen me. 

My parents had, to my utter surprise, listened quietly for the most part and interrupted only to point out how she and I were either alike or complemented each other. It was almost like I was in a twilight zone, where I could easily pretend that she was acceptable to my parents, and they were actually happy that I had chosen her. 

But since then, Abu's condition had worsened. The steroids had reduced his fever and his blood markers of inflammation had stabilized, but he seemed to be tiring out now and his breathing was becoming more labored. I had been on the phone since morning, calling all the hospitals in the city as well surrounding towns for an available ICU or critical care level bed. But had no luck.

I had even debated putting my dad in a car and driving non-stop to Lahore, an almost 16 hour drive, since Lahore seemed to have a better handle of COVID at that time. But my dad refused that plan, saying that if he was going to die, he wanted to die in Karachi. 

At 11 pm that night, Dr Hussain, the physician who had been managing Abu before I arrived and was still involved in his care along with myself, called me. 

"Dr Khan, I think I have located a BiPAP machine. Unfortunately, the patient who was using it passed away, but if you are ok with it I will try to get it straight from the deceased patient's family, rather than going through the medical supplies company"

I totally agreed with him. It did feel like we were cutting the line, but at this point I had realized that unless you were admitted into a hospital the rest of the patient population was essentially part of one big hunger games movie. 

You eat what you kill...was the mantra these days

That reminded me of the midnight adventure that Madi and Dr Kumar had while chasing an eighteen wheeler across state lines just to get a few hundred kits of the COVID test. It seemed that no matter where you were in the world the relevant authorities were woefully underprepared to deal with a medical disaster with a magnitude of this size. 

While I waited for Dr Hussain to bring the BiPAP machine, I decided to call Madi. It was her senior resident graduation day today and I hated that I couldn't be there with her on such an important day of her career. Especially, since she had also been selected to receive the Best Resident Teacher Award, by the medical students and interns this year. I could have taken credit for campaigning to get her that award, but truthfully she was so good at what she did I didn't really have to convince anyone to vote for her. 

"I just finished praying for uncle, how is he doing?", was the first thing she said to me after she picked up.

I had told her about my conversation with my parents, but also warned her that I was still skeptical, because they had not really apologized for their behavior or even accepted their arrogance and prejudice. Yet, the kindhearted, thoughtful woman that she was, had not stopped calling me every day to check up on me, my dad and even my mom, and praying for us. 

"Not good unfortunately, he is tiring out, his blood carbon-dioxide level is higher, the pH is lower. But the good news is that we managed to find a BiPAP machine", I updated her. 

"Oh Alhamdulillah, that is such a relief. Omar, if you need any help in managing it, please let me know. Day or night...just call, ok? Even if I am sleeping..."

Then in that soft, shy voice she added, "You know, I am almost done with residency, and am practically an attending now"

Even though she was going to be a chief resident, that was really just an administrative title. After, completing her three years of residency she was going to be a fully licensed physician...and would be rounding on the wards as an attending. 

"I know...", I beamed, "And I am so, so proud of you Madi. You deserve every award out there. I wish I could be there with you right now"

"I wish you were here too...", I could hear the longing in her voice, "But we'll celebrate when you come back. For now just focus on your dad"

In the moment of silence that followed, I felt a tap on my shoulder and looked up to see my mom standing there. 

She whispered, "Tum Madiha se baat kar rahe ho? (Are you talking to Madiha?)"

I wondered why she cared and my first instinct was to ask her to give me some privacy and tell her who I talk to was not her business, but then curiosity got the better of me. 

"Yes Ami, I am. Why?", I whispered back.

"Could I talk to her too? I want to congratulate her on finishing her residency", my mom said, with a sincere look on her face that frankly surprised me. 

I hesitated. On the one hand nothing would make me happier than my family accepting my wife-to-be. On the other hand, Madi may not be in a forgiving mood. After the way she had been disrespected, it was really up to her whether or not she wanted any communication with my family. That decision was not mine to make. 

"Wait here, Ami", I told my mom and went into the kitchen to ask Madi what she wanted to do, "Madi, my mom wants to talk to you. I am not with her right now, so you can answer me truthfully. And I will be totally fine with whatever you want to do. How much my family is involved in our life, is your decision more than it is mine"

There was silence on her end, and after a few moments I took it to mean that she wasn't ready yet, and was about to leave the kitchen, when Madi spoke up again.

"Sorry Omar, I had to think", she said in a deliberate tone, "It is hard to forget what they said about my family, but you are going to be my husband. And your family will always be a part of you. So I want to try and have a relationship with them too"

She paused, but when she spoke again her voice was full of confidence and I smiled imagining her sitting up and squaring her shoulders like she always did when she was ready to stand her ground, "I'd like to talk to your mom...if she is still there"

Her voice and her words almost gave me goosebumps and I had to take a breath before telling her, "Madi...I have no idea what I did to deserve you, but right now, I love and respect you more than you could ever imagine"

"Omar!", she exclaimed, and laughed, "Stop making my heart race with that flirty voice of yours. I am nervous enough as it is"

That really made me want to wrap my arms around her and kiss her temple, while breathing in her scent and whispering again that I had no words to express how indebted I was to her, but that would have to wait for a few more weeks. So instead, I went back to the living room where my mom was sitting on the sofa looking apprehensive, and put Madi on the speaker. 

Their conversation thereafter was polite, with my mom congratulating Madi on her award, and graduating residency as well as becoming a chief resident. And Madi asked my mom sincerely how she was holding up with Abu's illness and told her she was praying for his quick recovery. 

Fifteen minutes later, I thought they were coming to the end of their somewhat awkward conversation, when my mom looked up at me, and then down at the phone again, "Madiha beti, I also just wanted to say that I am very happy that Omar is marrying such a lovely girl like you. And...uh, I hope that we get to meet you one day"

Lovely girl?

That was a far cry from what my mom had said about her a few months ago. A simple 'we hope to meet you', was never going to be enough. My facial expression and Madi's silence must have given away what we were both thinking, because Ami looked at me and nodded and then continued to speak.

"Beti...", my mom sighed, "I need to apologize to you and your family. It was extremely unfair and wrong of us to do what we did"

My mom looked at me, and I could see she was starting to get tears in her eyes, but she went on anyway, "Hum ne apni taraf se Omar ki behtri ke liye woh private investigator hire kiya tha. Leikin Omar ko tumhare baaray mein baat karte huway sun kar mujhe ehsaas huwa hai ke tum dono ki jori tou aasmaan per bani thi. Tou phir hum kon hotai hain Allah ke kaam mein dakhal de ne waalay?"

(We thought we were doing the right thing for Omar by hiring that private investigator. But listening to Omar speak about you made me realize that you two were paired up in heaven. Then who are we to interfere in Allah's plan?)

She gently placed a hand on my head, "Mein tumhari Ami se bhi baat karoun gi (I will talk to your mother as well)", she told Madi, "But I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive us"

Madi hadn't said a word till now, and I was worried that despite Ami's tearful half-apology she was still quite upset. It would be well within her right to be so, and I would have supported her if she was. But when I heard her sniffling, I realized why she had been quiet. Ami's apology seemed to have affected her too. 

I should have known that. Madi, the woman who had a heart of pure gold, had always looked at the good in every situation. Our life and my parents, could not have been any different. But she also wasn't one to forego her self-respect and her parents' dignity. And she made that abundantly clear when she finally composed herself enough to reply to my mom. 

"Aunty...I won't lie, it was very, very hard to listen to what you and uncle said about us. And it was humiliating to have our whole life scrutinized like that. My parents have worked day and night to give us the best life they possibly could", she started in that confident voice I had come to expect from her.

But her voice caught when she said, "And I am not lesser than any other girl you could have chosen for Omar. I may not be the richest, or the prettiest, or even sophisticated enough for your taste, but Aunty, I am loyal, and faithful and will always stand by your son"

My heart was so full of emotion, I could barely hold my tears back when she said, "And I know that I make him happy, more than anyone else ever could. And he loves me, just as much as I love him"

I could picture the tears falling down her cheeks as she continued, in her hoarse, but bold and unapologetic voice, which literally made my chest hurt with the admiration I had for this woman, "If you knew me, you'd see how perfect Omar and I are for each other. Aunty, I may not be who you had pictured for your son, but I am proud of who my parents have raised me to be. And so I am going to ask you to please...please, accept me for who I am, because your son has. I am so sick and tired of the hatred, and hostility. I just want to spend my life with him in peace"

Her voice was almost a whisper when she added, "We deserve to be respected for the choice we have made"

No one spoke for at least the next minute, and all I could hear was Madi's sniffling and Ami's quiet sobs, as I tried to control my own sentiments.

Madi sure was something else. She was a rare combination of compassion, courage and benevolence. I had told her once that it was a privilege to have her as a senior resident, today I could say with certainty that it was an absolute privilege to love her and be loved by her.

Finally, when Ami spoke, she too seemed to agree, "I could not have found a better wife for Omar than you, even if I wanted to. Leikan mujhe bohat afsos hai ke, humari laalach or khud gharzi ki wajah se tum dono ko itni takleef hui hai (But I really regret that because of our greed and selfishness, the two of you have suffered so much)"

Madi replied almost immediately, "It's ok Aunty, we are humans after all. It's in our nature to make mistakes. Like my father says, sometimes it's best to learn from the past and then let it go..."

"Your father seems like a very wise man", my mom smiled at the phone, "I know that Omar's Abu would really like to talk to him as well, as soon as he feels better"

"I think Papa would like that. But I do have to go now, my awards ceremony is starting and my eyeliner is all smudged, and I probably should wash my face too", she laughed sweetly.

My mom asked her to send pictures and give her Salaam to her parents and then let her go. As Ami and I sat together in the living room in silence, the air suddenly felt lighter and I couldn't help but smile. Yet, there was an important lesson for me to learn.

"Ami, thank you for accepting her. But I can't help thinking that if Abu had not gotten sick, you would still have been arrogantly stuck on the differences between her and I"

My mom had a solemn look on her face when she replied to me, "Tum theek keh rahe ho beta. Shayed iss hi liye kehte hai ke Khuda ki laathi bay awaaz hoti hai (You are right son. Maybe this is why they say that God's stick is silent**)"

 ** I did a literal translation here, but really what the term 'Khuda ki laathi bay awaaz hoti hai' means is what goes around comes around and you never know when that might happen

Our moment of introspection however, was interrupted by Dr Hussain ringing the doorbell. He was finally here with the BiPAP machine, which he and I setup and then strapped the mask over my dad's mouth and nose. 

"Abu this might not be very comfortable, and you will probably feel like you are getting bloated, but hopefully it will open up some more areas of your lungs and help you breathe better"

"I am going to draw some more blood now as a baseline and again first thing in the morning, and we'll see if this machine has helped reduce the carbon-dioxide in your blood, ok uncle?", Dr Hussain asked my dad, as he nodded slowly. 

Outside the room, he and I discussed his prognosis, "I don't know what to tell you Dr Khan, you probably already know this, but if the BiPAP machine doesn't work and we still can't get a ventilator arranged till morning...I am just afraid..."

I knew what he was trying to say. No matter how many times you say, 'I don't think your loved one will make it through the next 24 hours', it never becomes easier. I had already known this, but hearing Dr Hussain struggling to put it into words just hit differently.

"I know, Dr Hussain, I know how bad his prognosis is right now. But thank you for everything you have done for him..."

I spent the next 6 hours at Abu's bedside, adjusting the settings on the BiPAP machine to make him more comfortable, and positioning the mask so it would not irritate his skin and/or leak air. The male nurse, Iskandar, whom we had hired was a young man, probably just a couple of years out of nursing school, but he was sharp as a whip. So when I felt that Abu was getting a bit more comfortable breathing, I trusted Iskandar enough to take a couple of hours nap. 

That though, turned into a four hour nap. And when I woke up I found out that even though the nurse had some questions about Abu, Ami had managed to find Madi's number (courtesy the private investigator, ironically) and had contacted her instead of waking me up. 

And Madi, my sweet and intelligent Madi, had managed to talk to Abu on video chat and helped adjust the settings of his BiPAP machine as well as the setting of his adjustable bed, so by the time I had woken up the feeling of bloating and nausea that Abu was having was almost gone. And Ami couldn't stop praising Madi. 

"I want to talk to her father, now please", my father whispered to me through his mask, as soon as I leaned into him to listen to his lungs. 

"Abu, it's ok. You can do it later, nobody is going anywhere. Get better first", I tried to tell him. 

But he shook his head stubbornly, "No! There may not be a later...call Madiha beti's parents now. I need to fix my mistake now, before it is too late"

I knew he wouldn't let it go, he wasn't any less headstrong than Madi was, so I made a deal with him. If his bloodwork from this morning looked better than the one from last night, indicating that his lung function may be improving, I would take the BiPAP off for five minutes and he could talk. 

Hi lung exam had definitely improved, which was corroborated by both Iskandar and Dr Hussain when he came later in the day with the good news that all of Abu's bloodwork from that morning showed improvement. My dad immediately looked at me and smiled through the mask. 

"Fine Abu", I gave in, "Let me ask Madi if her parents are still awake, and maybe you can do a zoom meeting with them"

And that is what we did...a zoom meeting of the in-laws at just past noon in Karachi and almost midnight in Chicago. I sat down in the corner of the room and dialed Madi's phone separately. 

"Can you believe what is happening?", she asked me in a tired voice, it was pretty late at night for her, and she probably would need to wake up again in the next few hours. 

"No, I can't...but you know that this is all because of you, right? My parents arrogance didn't stand a chance once they saw what a formidable force of nature you are, Dr Madiha Ahmed", I couldn't help grinning at my phone. 

I was expecting a witty, yet humble answer in return, but all I heard was soft snoring. Poor thing was so exhausted, she had fallen asleep in the middle of our conversation! If I was next to her, I would have pulled her closer to myself and revelled in her peaceful warmth. 

Stop Omar! This is not appropriate...

I had to stop myself immediately. Thinking of her asleep next to me was dangerous territory, and I respected her too much to go there yet. So instead, I closed my phone and tried to focus on what our parents were talking about. 

"Mein aur meray dost bhi Burns road se khana khai baghair ghar nahi aatay thai (Me and my friends also would not come home without eating from Burns road)", my dad seemed to be reminiscing about his youth. 

Burns road is this famous street in Karachi which is lined with some of the best and cheapest eateries in the city. It wasn't too far away from my medical school and was our favourite hangout as well on the weekends, especially for brunch. My mouth watered just thinking of the nihari, and paya and halwa-poori we used to devour. 

When I had first come to Karachi only about a week ago, I would not have dared to even imagine bringing Madi to this city, or to my parents' house. Now though, as I sat looking at the smiling faces of my parents, and even though from where I was sitting I could not see my their faces, hearing the excited voices of my in-laws, I couldn't help but wonder if my dream of having a regular married life, with a loving wife and in-laws that welcomed us, would indeed come true. 

"Jaisay hi yeh pandemic khatam hota hai, aap please Karachi aiyah ga, aur InshaAllah hum bhi Chicago ka chakr lagaien gai (As soon as this pandemic is over, please do come to Karachi, and we will InshaAllah make a trip to Chicago as well)", my mom was telling my in-laws now.