11/23/25 Searching for my accident

I remember how my father died. Crystal clear, as if it happened yesterday. Hard to believe it has already been eight years. I was not in Pakistan when that day unfolded, but when I say I know how my dad died, I am not talking about the chain of events that led to it. I am talking about something deeper, the state of his soul in those final moments.

I know because I was the one who bathed him for his funeral. I was the one who pulled him from cold storage, washed every wound, felt every broken bone. And I saw his face. That smile. The kind that does not belong to pain or fear, but to peace. Eternal satisfaction etched across his features, as if he had looked back on his life, done a quick review, and whispered to himself: I lived well. I loved deeply. I fulfilled my purpose.

They say heaven or hell begins in that instant. For him, it felt like heaven. He welcomed death like an old friend. Why would he not? He was the eldest of nine siblings, father of five, the man who carried the weight of a family after my grandfather passed too soon. He worked tirelessly to raise us, to lift his brothers and sisters out of hardship, to move us away from Quetta when life there turned dangerous. He saw two of his children married, played with his grandkids, and loved a woman who stood by him through everything. We watched him fall in love with her more every single day.

He was happy. He was excited for that trip up north, a first of its kind with his kids. He had finally laid down the burden of responsibility and was ready to enjoy life, to spoil his grandsons, to breathe. He was strong, healthy, independent. And then, in a blink, he was gone. No sickness. No slow decline. Just an accident. Sitting beside the woman he loved most. Poof, and gone.

Whenever I think about death, that is the image that comes to me. If I could choose, I would want to go like that too, instantly, without warning. I walk through life with that thought tucked behind a thousand curtains in my mind. Every late-night drive, every flight, every quiet walk, I wonder if this is the moment. My own poof.

I am not as content as he was. Who could be? But I keep moving, working, traveling, living, while quietly manifesting that eternal accident. My personal exit. And if I am lucky, maybe I will wear that same smile. That victory smile.