The loss of a child is a sorrow beyond measure, an ache that pierces the soul and lingers in the heart for a lifetime. It is a grief that resists words, leaving behind a void that can never truly be filled. For parents, this loss is the most intense of heartaches—a dream abruptly ended, a future that will never come to be. It is a pain that turns the world upside down, as they struggle with the unbearable reality of life without their beloved child.

On the last Monday night (US time), this unimaginable sorrow became a reality for my nephew Rifad and his wife, Shabreen, as their loving son Haroun passed away at Boston Children’s Hospital, after a long battle with illness. Despite their tireless efforts—seeking the best medical care, crossing borders, moving to different countries in search of hope—they could not save their child. Haroun, who had filled their lives with light and joy, was taken from them far too soon. Holy Quran says: “No misfortune˹or blessing˺ occurs on earth or in yourselves without being ˹written˺ in a Record before We bring it into being…..˹We let you know this˺ so that you neither grieve over what you have missed nor boast over what He has granted you (57:22, 23).

It is a profound sadness that, being thousands of miles away, we couldn’t be there to stand by him and his parents during these most agonizing days. However, in those final, heart-wrenching days, Haroun was surrounded by the love of not just his parents, but also his maternal grandparents, Nawas and Beenakka, who stood by their daughter and son-in-law, offering strength and comfort as they faced the unbearable. Their presence was a source of solace, a reminder of the deep familial bonds that sustained them through this dark time.

Haroun was more than just a lively, curious child; he was the very heart of his family. His father, a software engineer in Boston, and his mother, who had once lent her talents to Deloitte, nurtured Haroun with all the love and care they could muster. Haroun’s thirst for reading, as we were told, reflected the nurturing atmosphere they fostered. His younger brother, Haidar, was his constant shadow, sharing in every adventure and dream that Haroun embraced. Now, Haidar is left to put up with with a loss so intense that it challenges even the understanding of adults, let alone a child.

The day after Haroun’s passing, he was laid to rest at The Garden of Forgiveness in Boston, a serene and peaceful place where the natural beauty of the surroundings offered a quiet solace to those who came to say their final goodbyes. In this tranquil sanctuary, Haroun found his final resting place, surrounded by the love of his family, the whispers of the wind through the trees, and the gentle embrace of nature—a fitting tribute to a life that, though brief, was filled with grace and meaning.

Haroun’s departure leaves an irreplaceable void not only in the lives of his parents and brother but also in the hearts of his family back in India. He was the cherished grandson of my brother K.M. Althaf, a former Joint Commissioner of the Department of Commercial Tax in Kerala, and Sanobar Althaf, who were the sources of strength and love in his life. On his mother’s side, Haroun was connected to the Nawaz family of Herifodil House in Shencottah and was a member of the Kollam Echamveedan family. These familial ties gave Haroun a strong sense of identity and belonging, grounding him in the modest traditions and history of his ancestors.

As we remember Haroun, we hold on to the memories of his bright smile, his insatiable curiosity, and the joy he brought to those around him. Though his time with us was far too short, the love he shared and the light he brought into the world will remain in our hearts forever.

And as we look to Haidar, his younger brother, we hope that in time, he will come to understand the depth of this loss and find comfort in the enduring legacy of love that Haroun leaves behind.

The memory of our last days with Haroun remains fresh, an agonising echo of a time when his laughter filled the air, last year. We had journeyed to the serene beaches of Varkala and Vakkom, where his joy seemed as endless as the horizon. Little did we know that beneath his bright mien, he was already waging a silent battle against an illness that would soon take him from us.

I also recall, before the shadow of the pandemic altered our lives, we gathered as a family amidst the serene waters of Kainakari, Alappuzha. Haroun, with his boundless energy, was the heartbeat of those days, weaving tales, playing games, and bringing light to every corner of our reunion.

When we visited our brother Althaf and his family in Kozhikode yesterday, accompanied by my younger brother Sajad and Jasmin, the weight of those painful days came rushing back to us. The atmosphere was heavy with sorrow, and the grief was intense. Rifad’s sister, Ridhima, and her children, Raihan and Mariyam, were all struggling to cope with the overwhelming sadness. Their father, Abeed, his mother, and our sister-in-law, Sanober, were equally heartbroken, each of them absorbed in their own quiet agony. The loss had cast a deep shadow over the entire family, leaving everyone in a state of deep mourning.

I recall how, in the early hours of that fateful Monday, Sajad, barely able to speak through his tears, broke the devastating news to me. His grief was severe, and the same heartbreak resonated through all of us as we shared this tragic news with our family and friends.
Althaf Ikka and his family were visibly struggling, contending with an immense loss that seemed too great to bear. My sisters, Kurshid Abdul Kadir and Aysha Omerali, were also trying to come to terms with the reality, though words felt inadequate. The younger members of our family, Haroun’s cousins, were equally heartbroken, each of them holding onto precious memories of the days they had recently spent with him in India.

What can one say in such moments? The memories remain, a touching reminder of the time spent with Haroun, whose presence will forever be missed by all who knew him.

Mini often said that when Haroun hugged us during his visits, it was as if our hearts and souls truly met. His embrace was so intense, so full of love, that it felt like more than just a simple gesture. I still remember the last time they visited, how he rested against my chest for a few moments by the riverside at Vakkom. In that brief but powerful moment, it felt as though time itself stood still, binding us in a connection that words could never fully capture.

Yes, life, with its unpredictable tides, often steers us into waters we are not prepared to traverse.