On August 2, 2013, I became a father for the first time to my daughter, Laila. I was still in conflict with myself over the loss of my brother, Mohammed, and his fate that he had been in a wheelchair for his entire life while I was given every opportunity possible and had wasted most of them. I had never been able to process my grief or my guilt. Now I suddenly had a daughter, and I should have been delighted about it. I always felt that Mohammed had been a better person and a better son than I. I’m sure he would have made far better choices than I did, for I was hopeless and an eternal pessimist, while he was always happy and an eternal optimist—even with his disabilities.
Everyone knew that Mohammed had loved life, whereas I was perpetually unhappy. This gave me a bad conscience. How could I allow myself to be unhappy with all the opportunities I had when he was always so happy without having any opportunities at all? How could I be happy that my wife had given birth to our first child when I had just buried my big brother? It didn’t feel fair, but I also think it was a mercy sent from God that I should now be the father of this pure, beautiful, and innocent creature.
There was a greater meaning in the fact that she was born right after his death. I felt obligated to become a better person, a better father, a better son, and a better brother. I felt obligated to be a little bit more like Mohammed. It shifted my focus and prevented me from falling into an even deeper hole.
Laila saved me.