In memory of a family friend

Last week, I went to a funeral for a man that I have known since childhood. He was a friend of my Dad's and our travel agent. We were also related through marriage as his brother is married to my dear cousin. Nizar "Nick" Manji died on August 11, 2007. He was one of those adults who was not condescending to kids. He always acknowledged me as a child. This is something children never forget.

When my Dad passed, Nick went out of his way to help us get decently priced tickets back to Ottawa. In those days, there wasn't much competition and a flight to central Canada usually cost around $800. He used some of his personal vouchers so we would not have to pay that much. An unforgettable gesture during a time of horrific grief.

Two years ago, there was a tragic accident on a north shore highway. A logging truck lost its load and a couple of logs went over the median and landed onto a car that was heading in the opposite direction. The driver and passenger, a mother and daughter, were instantly killed. This was Nizar's family. In an instant, they were gone, dying in the most unfathomable way.

Thousands of people came to the funeral. It was a media circus. These deaths shook the Ismaili community and we were out in full force. Understandably, Nick's grief was palpable. However, when I offered him my condolences, he looked at me the same way he did when I was a child. Even in pain, he remembered that kid who used to hang out with her Dad and acknowledged her. That was the last time I saw him alive.

A while back he was diagnosed with cancer. Things happened quickly and now he is gone. His funeral was not the spectacle of his wife and daughter's funeral. It was a simple funeral for a man who lived and then, died.

The Ismaili senator was there. She is friend's with Nick's cousin who seemed to be his primary caregiver. She was minding her grandson. The Senate is on its summer break. She used to be my Mum's lawyer. She has not changed. She looks the same. I had my daughter with me and we talked, mainly about kids. For some reason, she showed me her tattoos. Needless to say, one of them is the maple leaf. It was kind of funny. She seemed uncertain where the lunch would be and asked if she could follow me. Given that I generally don't agree with her politics, I was impressed by her lack of pretense. The tattooed senator was there to support her friend and look after her grandson.

The lunch that followed was an intimate gathering at his apartment complex. We were invited mainly due to our family connection. His brother brought out a couple of albums. One was a scrapbook that Nizar had made to honour his lost daughter. The other was pictures of him with family and friends which seemed to be taken after his diagnosis. These albums, those of us who knew him and were touched by his life are all that remains of his existence. His wife and daughter are gone. An entire family is no more.

I'm not sure what happens after we die. The fantasy is that we reunite with loved ones. While this is a comforting explanation, I just don't know if I can buy it. Mostly, I find comfort in knowing that death means the end of physical and emotional pain and suffering. Nizar no longer has to miss his family and live with the pain of their loss. At long last, I hope that he is at peace.