So you are probably wondering where my parents and sister, Anisa are.

A few years ago, to be exact 4 years ago on July 17th. My sister and I, decided to go visit our parents for the summer holidays. We studied in Scotland and my parents lived all the way in America, they moved back after our graduation. We planned a trip to surprise them - I still remember their gleaming faces and excitement that was laced in their voices, happiness radiated from their faces and eyes. It had been 6 months since we last saw them. though it felt like a we had not seen them for years.

My parents weren't expecting us, it was about midnight when we arrived home. But they were still awake, in the kitchen conversing while having tea. The love they had for each other was still youthful, they looked so in love. We were exhausted and jet-legged, although Anisa and I fought against the tiredness to sit with our parents for a few minutes before going to rest, and I am glad we did. We talked about university - our classes and the lecturers, the trip and a lot of things that I can't remember that well. But I do remember that we planned to have a family lunch the next day. I do remember vividly, laughing because of dad's silly dad jokes and my mum trying her best to hold in her laughter - she actually found them funny. My sister and I laughed along, as for the first time ever my father had said an actual funny joke, I laughed so hard that my stomach started to pain and tears began to roll down my cheeks.

I woke up really late in the morning about 11:00 o'clock. Anisa wasn't in her room. She got some sleep in the airplane, besides she's an early bird regardless of how late she sleeps, that's her super power. I checked my parents bedroom they weren't there as well. So I asked the housekeeper and she told me that they had gone to the airport to pick up Imad and that they would be back just in time for lunch. That's when I recalled them mentioning it last night, it slipped my mind.

I took a shower, wore a plain pink cotton dress with long sleeves, put on my scarf and helped the chef out in the kitchen, preparing the meal for lunch. After that I decided to text Anisa and ask where they had reached, but she didn't reply. That's odd I thought, though maybe she forgot to charge her phone. I texted both mum and dad, they too did not respond. Maybe they forgot their phones in the car. But dad always has his phone and mum's phone is never on silent.

Imad had texted in the family group that he's flight had been delayed and he wouldn't make it until the next day. No one had responded anything to it, which was odd. Mum would have been disappointed, knowing my mother she would have definitely expressed her disappointment and she had already viewed the message. I thought nothing out of it and came up with a logical reason behind her delayed response to Imad's message.

I tried to call Imad but he too didn't pick up. I was worried. At 2:30 pm, my phone started ringing and I immediately picked up not caring or wanting to know who it is, just wanting to hear my parent's voice or my sister's, any sort of familiarity. I picked up the call and what I heard after, I haven't forgotten - my whole body had weakened, my arms to heavy to carry and my heart to weak to handle the devastating news. I heard my heart break and not break slowly, where one piece chips off then the next, no not like that. It happened all at once, like a stone passing through a window. I felt hollow. I listen, though I am not really there. My thoughts were no longer governed by reason.

I had just been informed that my mother died in a car accident, my father and sister were the only survivors and they were in surgery. Tears fall from eyes, I felt light headed and overwhelmed with sorrow. I rushed to the hospital head not clear, nor my feelings. The nurse tried to calm me down, but how could I be calm, when it felt like my life is swirling in a hurricane. I just lost my mother, my mother that I haven't seen in 6 months. The same mother who had been there for every milestone and every aspect of my life. My mother who nursed and cared for me, who loved me unconditionally even when I wasn't the best or the kindest towards her. I hadn't come to terms with reality, instead I began to reminisce and to my mind it just seemed impossible, because she was alive in my memories.

I didn't go to see my mother's body, to identify her, when they asked me too. How can I look at my mother and see her not smile at me and how do I look at her while remaining sane. How am I to look at her frigid body and confirm to me and the nurses that it's her, it's my mother that's dead.

Hours passed, I waited and listened to my mind wail. Trying to understand how it all happened and why. The surgeon approached me after hours of waiting and praying. He gave me the good news, or so I thought, that both my sister and father were okay. They were out of the surgery but are in critical condition, they are in the ICU. Alhamdulillah. When I saw them, my father and sister, the bruises on their foreheads and arms... they looked fragile. And I was afraid of even holding their hand, scared that I'd hurt them.

When Aunty Hudaa came (my mums best friend), she hugged me. She didn't say much, she just hugged me and it was warm and comforting. I cried even more, knowing I'll never be able to hug my mother again or see her. I had sent Imad and Aunty Hudaa a message while I was at the waiting room, figured I would have to notify them sooner or later because sitting and worrying my mind to complete insanity wasn't the best option. Aunty Hudaa went to verify that it's my mother, she came back and held my hand and said if I didn't go look at her one last time, I'd regret it for the rest of my life. And so I went to see her and kissed her on her forehead and told her how much I loved her.

I broke down, my tears were unstoppable. Silent tears that couldn't be heard, I didn't want my mother to be worried. I cried in my aunts arms and she lulled me. My aunt instructed me to go home and change and so I did. I listened to her.

When I came back the next day, my dad was alive but he questioned he's survival, when he was he was informed that's he's wife is dead. He asked for to see his wife, my mother, several times even though he already knew where she is. My father kept on saying her name, repeatedly like doing so would bring her back, like my mother would respond to him how she always does, lovingly respond "Yes my love".

The nurses tried to remind him that's she's dead but he remained consistent in saying her name. I stood in the corner, watching him fall into despair. When our eyes met, he would question me and ask me to bring his wife to him. I didn't say anything, instead I sat beside him and held his hand. Tears slowly tricking whenever we he would ask if his wife was still alive. Aunt Hudaa came to the hospital later in the evening, as she called me to tell me that she's taking care of the funeral preparations.

Imad hadn't responded to any of my messages, and he never did.

The doctors affirmed that my father is paralyzed from the waist down, after he complained of pain in his back and not being able to move his feet - when he tried to get up, he wanted to go see my mother. However he could walk again, if he undergoes spinal simulation. The doctor said it may work - though the chances are slim to none. So I had watch the light in my fathers eyes slowly get dimmer, watched him give up. He looked at me and tried to smile, but even that he couldn't do anymore. I held his hand and assured him, that I am okay even though I wasn't. He then asked about Anisa and that's the last time he spoke. My sister was still asleep, as far as I was concerned. But later on that day they told me that she's in a coma. My sister, my twin sister is in a coma. Resting.

The doctors weren't sure when she will wake up. They said coma patients are unpredictable; some wake up after weeks or months or even years, and some never do. But my sister will wake up, she will have too. I know she will.

My father doesn't speak much anymore, he prefers silence. If he wants to communicate he writes and even that he rarely does lately. He doesn't work anymore, he has given up on living, my father isn't really my father - well not the one who raised me.

After two years living in America, finishing my course online, taking care of my father and my sister. Aunty Hudaa insisted that I leave the country and live my life, she encouraged me to move to Dubai and to work and live in another country. She said I have to continue living, even when my father and sister are not able to do so. My mother would have wanted to me to, I just know it in my heart she would have forced me to leave.

Even though I really did not want to leave them, she promised me she'd look after my sister, and she does. Every week once or twice a week, she Face Times me and shows me Anisa. Shows me her face, and every time she's peacefully asleep, her eyes shut closed. Sometimes I tell her about my day and I tell her about anything I can think of, some days I just cry and hear her voice in my head telling me to cheer up. And some days I just look at her and get mad, at why she's not awake, it's been 4 years now... This is how she must have felt when I took forever to wake up in the morning. Tit for tat?

My father doesn't communicate much with me, maybe once in a while he would send me emails asking how I am or about work. But that's it. I miss him. I miss my father... the one who raised me all those years. The father that would do anything to make me happy.

Imad never attended my mother's funeral, I stopped reaching out to him after spending months trying to communicate with him. I do see him on the internet, smiling and cheerful as if nothing had happened, as if he had not lost the woman who raised him. He's now a famous swimmer, nicknamed 'merman'. Imad Abdullah the merman. The day my mother died, Imad did too. To me he no longer exists.