1999 was the year I left you two behind.

I flew from my home in Pakistan to my home in America for the last time.

We were supposed to visit again in five years.

That was the plan.

 

2004 was the year that evil fraud lawyer ruined everything.

Five years turned into fifteen,

But I didn’t think that I’d never see you again.

We missed more weddings, anniversaries, and so many new babies.

If I went back now, I’d have to stay permanently.

It isn’t that I didn’t want to, but we were trying to attain the American dream;

Eventually I’d bring you back with me.

That was the plan.

 

2013 was the year that you, my dear father, kept us on our toes;

I never lost sight of the phone or computer screen that summer.

I yearned to touch the soft lines on your face,

feel the tickle of your white beard as you kissed my cheek,

grip onto the last of the warmth in your fragile hands.

You nearly escaped death’s clutches, but it was your time.

You left in contentment with a smile on your face.

That was the plan.

 

2014 was the year that you, my dear mother, followed him without any warning.

My heart stopped when the phone rang at that late hour,

Her eerily serene tone filled me with dread,

My body shook with fierce tremors full of longing, just as it had six months before.

Your sweet crooked smile, your thinning red hair, your frail voice filled my head.

You had been too quiet since he died.

All you said was that you had to rest your eyes.

That was the plan.

 

2016 will be the year my daughter turns twenty-one;

I will finally be free to go where I please.

My first stop was supposed to be Karachi.

That was the plan.
Mahnoor Khan is from Marietta, Georgia and is currently learning how to change the world at Agnes Scott College. If you ever need to borrow a scarf, she has one in almost every shade. She is a pro at pulling all-nighters–no coffee necessary. She loves dark chocolate, chilly weather, and spending quality time with family and friends.