I recently lost one of my loved ones. A 36 years old, handsome, talented, and well-educated cousin. He was such a kind and loved person that everyone I know had good things to say about him. If I can ever have half of the courage he had, I would consider myself lucky. I say he was courageous because he fought a brain tumor for more than eight years, away from his motherland and his family. When he found out about his brain cancer, he was just 28 years old. At the prime of his life, with so much hope and dreams for the future. A vision of having a home and family of his own one day. He was taking medications for pain, fear, anxiety but not once I or anyone else heard him complaining. Whenever you talked with him, he would make you feel better. He always had witty humor to cheer you up no matter how bad you felt.

I had heard the above verse before but never connected to it as I did now after the loss of my brother. He was born in Kabul, Afghanistan. Raised in a loving family, and despite all the daily difficulties in a war-torn country, he achieved higher education and became a doctor of dentistry. After working in his domain for a few years, faith and the well of making a better life for himself made him migrate away. The decision to leave his family and loved ones behind was not easy. It is never easy for any parents to let a son, who they loved and cared about, go miles away—not knowing when or how they will be able to see him again. With tears in his eyes, he left his homeland and family behind and started the next chapter of his life in Germany.

Allah has promised to test all of us, but He tries his most beloved ones with more than any of us might be able to endure. My brother was tested with separation from his family, with the struggles of making a new life in an unknown country, with the task of not spending on himself or sleeping with hunger so that he could save some money to send back home. And on top of all this, he was diagnosed with a brain tumor shortly after settling in his new home.

The devastation of this news hit all of us hard, especially his family in Afghanistan, who were tested with a test that I don't wish on anyone else's family. But despite all of us dealing with this, I can't imagine the thoughts going through his mind. How do you keep going? How do you find the courage to fight such a disease? The simple task of getting out of bed must seem like climbing a mountain, especially with the pain and suffering that comes with such a disease.

He did it; he woke up every day and fought for eight long years. He was receiving some glimmer of hope along the way. We were also encouraged to see his treatment working for a while.

In the last few weeks, his health started to deteriorate again. This time, the doctors didn't see any hope. They refused to perform any more surgeries. And within a few days, he was taken from us. We found him in his hospital room; he had a glow on his face and had his hands placed on top of each other above his stomach.

As the Quran has stated, everyone will die sooner or later; this life is just a temporary home for us. But I regret not talking to him more often when he was with us. I wish I could have told him I loved him more often. If you haven't spoken to someone you love for a while because of any reason; Please don't wait and call them today. This life is too short.

May Allah forgive my brother's sins, grant him the highest rank in paradise, and fulfill all of his dreams that were left unfulfilled in this life.