Answers From Heaven

Nagham Hennawi

Description

"Sometimes, having a fear can create a strength we never knew existed in us. It took me one painting to realise what I had lost." A strong bond between a father and his daughter will leave you wondering, What would I have done? This young woman, who put her family before everything else, left herself satisfied with the outcome of knowing she will never say, ''I wish I had done that.''

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
• Date de parution: 31 janvier 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528967686
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Answers From Heaven
Nagham Hennawi
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-01-31
Answers From Heaven About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgment Chapter One The Beginning Chapter Two How It All Began Chapter Three I Believe in You Chapter Four My Father’s Treasure Chapter Five A Part I Never Knew Existed Chapter Six How It All Began in My Father’s Eyes Chapter Seven Old Wounds Chapter Eight The Start of an Unwanted Journey Chapter Nine No Regrets Chapter Ten It Is Never Too Late
About the Author
Nagham was born in an artistic family, with great creativity in fine arts. She found her passion in writing and drawing. In university, she studied interior designing but found her biggest passion in writing, where she developed it in almost every writing form, until she started writing stories of her own. With the challenges we face in our world, she realised the need and the will to write what might be an inspiration for people in our complex world.
Dedication
For the greatest man alive, my beloved father.
Copyright Information ©
Nagham Hennawi (2020)
The right of Nagham Hennawi to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528933995 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528967686 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgment
This story was based on a real-life experience. Losing one had me fear losing the others too. Which led me to write what could have been if my doubts and fears became reality. Special thanks to everyone who helped me overcome those fears and doubts, and to all who had given me support of any kind. Of course, special gratitude for whom this story is dedicated to, my father.
Chapter One

The Beginning
Standing there on your grave, I realised that my reason to live was you. I felt the emptiness that filled my heart, the pain that ached in my chest and the shivers that rushed through my whole body parts. They all told me that I just lost what I worked for all my life, and it did not feel good at all. It felt like I was at the edge, with thoughts urging me to jump. Flashbacks ran through my head and I couldn’t block them. It was only natural to let them flow; it was a weak moment when a normal person would break down. I was a wreck inside, but showing some kind of composure to the outside world. The cold air hit my face, drying what my eyes formed of tears, some of which, drying before they got the chance to slide down on my cheeks. What a strange world! In a blink of an eye, you end up with this lonely feeling, despite what you are surrounded with. There is a huge difference between being alone and being lonely. A person is never alone when he is always surrounded by people in different forms; i.e., family, friends, or even sometimes, strangers. But to be lonely means that you lost someone who filled a void that no one else can ever fill. You reach a point where you are surrounded by so many people and yet, never satisfied with their attention or presence.
I sniffled and wiped the dry tears off my cheeks. Giving a light smile, I knew that I was going to miss him like no one could ever imagine. Turning my back to the tombstone, I started walking, away, with the pain hitting my chest again and fresh tears filling my already red and puffy eyes. It was almost unbelievable how the time passed by so quickly. So much happened in a short while and the time deceived us, when getting what we thought was enough, but the truth remains, we can never get enough. We always look for more, we are greedy and selfish, we just want things to go as we like, and whine when they don’t. I inhaled deeply, nodding to the man at the gate, as a gesture of a thank you without words. My voice was probably going to shake, and fail me, so I stuck to the gestures.
I stood by the car and took a final deep breath before I opened the door and slid in the driver’s seat. Suddenly, a very little piece of advice, he once gave me, crossed my mind. And I remembered every little detail of our old conversations: the smiles, the little moments we argued, even the rare times we fought. Everything flashed through my head. I glanced over the side and headed towards the road, driving towards the place I call home. How much it will change now. Without him around, without his voice, without his laughs, I bit my lower lip and sighed deeply. It was so painful. How am I going to live now?
Chapter Two

How It All Began
***
A young girl, whose mother is dead, will naturally get lots of peoples’ sympathies. Losing my mother while I was still 7 years old, I knew what I was facing back then. I knew that she was not going to sit at the dining table anymore; I knew that she was not going to pick me up from school; I knew she was gone for good. My daddy said that she went to a better place. After that incident, people kept telling him that he should send me to a doctor to make sure that the shock didn’t affect me. None of them noticed that I understood the situation like an adult and not like a kid. Yet, as much as people filled my father’s head with nonsense, he always believed I was normal, and that I was bigger than my age, that I was only mature and that I wasn’t cold-hearted. Well, I cried, yes. I was sad, but who wouldn’t be. Then I knew there was no point in fighting about what happened, because she was gone and she was not coming back. At that point, my father said, “We are on our own from now on,” so I tried my best to keep my focus on that.
The first two weeks were very hard; my dad was in a wreck. He tried his best not to show it around me, but I knew. It wasn’t that hard to figure out. I missed her, so it was pretty much logical that Dad missed her too. We both loved her, and she was gone now. Every part of the house cried for her loss, wherever we looked, wherever we sat, her shadow was with us. My dad cried; he cried a lot. Sometimes I could hear him in the middle of the night crying alone in the cold bathroom. He tried to be strong in front of me, bottling up his feelings and letting them go whenever I fell asleep, it broke my heart. Watching him holding back, hearing his cries made me feel guilty. Not that my mother’s death was my fault, no, but because I wasn’t strong enough to hold his hand, or to be there for him, or at least to assure him not to be afraid to cry in front of me. That was my first goal, to be stronger for him. I worked on that aim so hard. I tried to be the big girl my dad wanted me to be. I wanted him to finally feel at ease when he was around me, and try to be open with me. I wanted him to rely on me. I was so excited, for being a 7-year-old girl, who wanted the best for her father.
After two months, we almost went back to our usual life, my dad seemed to be better every day that passed by. I started school and because of his job, I had to wait for at least one hour so he can pick me up after school. I didn’t really mind it; I had many things to keep myself busy with. Sometimes I would do my homework so I could spend more time with him when I go home. At other times, I would just draw or write something. I wasn’t very good at drawing, nor was I a professional writer, but I was able to draw something and show it to my father. The look on his face was priceless. I might not be good in the sense of art, but I knew whatever I drew or wrote, was taken by my dad as the best piece of art; and most importantly, that made him proud of me.
I remember one particular day, when I was sitting at the bench in the schoolyard. The weather was chilly but I had enough clothes on to keep me warm. Only my fingers, nose and ears were red, and I wasn’t feeling them. But I didn’t realise it, since I was busy with the drawing in my hands.
My dad told me once that whenever I draw, I had that indescribable expression on my face. It was a mixture of different and confused feelings, that he never managed to know what I think of when I draw. But the thing is that when I draw, I don’t think. It is strange, but I don’t keep one thought for more than three seconds in my head. My mind races with different things that rush around, I end up thinking of none of them. Anyway, while I was finishing the last few lines in my drawing, a voice broke through the silence followed by a chuckle, “Another masterpiece?” I knew exactly who it was. A grin formed over my face, showing half of my teeth, since I had just recently got rid of the baby teeth. I took some time to lose them, but the doctor said it was probably because of the tragedy that we went through, and it was completely normal. Throwing my arms around his neck, he took me in his arms and spun me once, before pecking my cheek. “I am sorry I am late. They wouldn’t let me leave earlier.” He apologised like every time. It was like a greeting line for him. I knew he felt guilty, but for me it was alright. I knew he couldn’t help it, and I wasn’t bothered.
“It’s okay Daddy, I can keep myself busy. Want to see my new drawing?!” I chippered excitedly. I loved to show him my drawings. I knew they were too ugly sometimes, but even so, my dad loved them and that meant the world for me. He nodded vigorously, and put me down on my feet. I grabbed the paper and showed him. “See? This is us; you are even wearing your favourite shirt, the one I picked for you, of course. AND! We are at the park eating our favourite b