Arshia Kapadia

So she had made a pact with one of her cousins who lived in London.

His name was Khalek, Khalek uncle.

We Indians call everybody uncle and auntie, so just roll with that.

So...

So Khalek uncle came over the Christmas holidays every year, and without fail, he would bring one of her favorite brands, which was Max Factor.

Right before he arrived, a letter would arrive in the mail in which he would write, my dear Naseema, I'm coming as usual over the Christmas holidays, and I'm bringing the latest shade of Max Factor with me.

Ami would be counting down the days, and along with her, so would I.

Ammi passed away when I was 13.

She had stage 3 breast cancer, and she didn't survive that very long.

Within a year, she was gone.

It was imminent.

Since she passed away at around 10 p.m.

in the night, and it's customary to bury the dead after one of the five obligatory prayers in the Islamic tradition, it was decided that we would bury her in the morning after the first prayer of the day.

So we brought Ami's body home, and it was kept on these huge chunks of dry ice in the room that I shared with her.

I remember standing in that room, seeing her body and wondering, what should I do now?

Was there some playbook that people forgot to give me?

What should a 13-year-old do?

Should I be like lamenting, crying my heart out, or should I be all strong and silent and pretend to be this really strong, stoic girl?

I didn't know.

My mother, she has four brothers, and it was decided that they would raise me after her death.