Family

Would you believe me if I say I learned from someone more than my parents?

That is the truth. Someone who was always helpful, who treated me sincerely, respected me a lot, forgave me, taught me, and gave me everything without limits. Even now when I talk about him my breath stops because I can't say enough.

We lived together, and we shared everything together. He was a piece of my heart and he still is.

He is my brother.

He was studying hard at university. He was an intelligent young man. I remember that day when he graduated - we were all very happy. The news of his success wasn't new to us because we were used to his successes in everything. When he started applying for jobs in big companies, a terrible thing happened: the war of Syria has started.

Our life has changed: we used to smell roses and jasmine, but after the war we smelled only blood and death. We decided to move to Lebanon, but my brother refused categorically and said: Who will bury those dead bodies? Who will stay at home to water the roses and jasmine?

For six years he with his friends carried the bodies to the graves; for six years he transported the injured and relentlessly helped them.

As for me, I was longing to see him even for a moment. I dreamt of our meeting: how it would be when I return to my country?

But my dream is broken.

Someone contacted me to tell about his death in an explosion; the explosion torn him apart and my heart too.

Was that real or just a fiction?

He always comes to me in my dreams and asks me: Are you ok?

I'm still waiting for a connection to tell me that those terrible news was a joke.