Sweet, sweet Samar

We have just returned from a wonderful, memorable holiday. And as lovely as this break was, I will never remember Nelson Bay without remembering my cousin Samar, four years my senior. You see, whilst we were away we learnt of Samar's death.

The last time I saw her was January 1991. At that time, her silky, chestnut-brown hair fell down to her slender waist, which was only just betraying an early second pregnancy. She was wearing an emerald green jumper she had recently, quietly, patiently knitted. I remember her proudly threading identically-coloured ribbon at the ruffled neckline she had created, her eighteen-months old son playing quietly at her feet. She had the demenour and quietness of a shy twelve year old girl, yet a tranquility, apparent in her person, was missing in her eyes.

And whilst I was away, on holiday, pleasurably spending time with my family, she was being taken away from hers. But in life she never knew joy. She never knew peace. Maybe in death she may at least know the latter. However, as a result of her death and her finally knowing peace, her loved ones will be deeply burdened by her loss.

Samar, your name, meaning beauty in darkness, was so apt, for you truely were beauty in your dark, uncertain world. Samar. Your name cannot be forgotten. Samar. From my heavy heart I can only offer you a rose in your loving memory. Samar, may you finally, eternally, rest in peace.