Dear God,

I was reading a paper that highlighted that men are just as emotional as women, we just express it differently. I’d have to agree, you woke me up the other morning and when I took Eleanor out of her crib she came racing into our bedroom and started looking around.

It was weird because the norm was that she would call for her mother and then begin feeding, but this morning she clearly had something else in mind. As she looked around and around her eyes finally fell on her target, a small container on the side table. She picked it up and with her newfound motor skills pried it open to uncover some coconut oil. She dipped her fingers in and started rubbing it on her lips, mimicking her mother.

In that moment as she pursed up those Jamaican lips of hers and applied her oil, I cried. It wasn’t out of sadness or anything, but at that moment I remembered my late grandmother. I remembered how it was by her hands that my baby sister put on lipstick for the first time at the age of five. I thought to myself, “She would have loved meeting Eleanor.”

I’m writing this to you because one of the greatest rewards that one can have in Paradise after seeing you is to be surrounded by their family. To see their ancestors and progeny altogether in that blessed abode.

I have no idea what will become of my grandmother. To be honest, I have no idea what will even become of myself. Though the witnessing of your oneness and the greatness of your Prophet guarantees me Paradise, there is nothing that guarantees that I will die upon this belief, or that I won’t be punished in the fire.

But what I do know is that I won’t feel any sadness while in that abode. I know that at this moment the sadness I feel is temporary, and that the longing I feel is minute.

So I just want to say…

Thanks for the memories. Even though I miss her I’m so grateful to you for every moment that you gifted me with her. I’ll be sure to tell Eleanor all about the great grandmother she never got to meet.

Jumada Al Thani 15th, 1440
February 21st, 2019

Your servant,
Arthur K. Richards

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