Abdelhakim Mustafa poses for a photo after finishing his evening prayer on August 19, 2025. (Basil Mustafa / Fourth Estate)

A recent loss made me reflect on our goals as individuals and the stories we leave behind

BY BASIL MUSTAFA, STAFF WRITER

I didn’t see my dad too much when I was little. The first memory I have of him is when he returned home from a long stay in Sudan. I remember waking up in his arms after falling asleep in the airport and thinking, “Who is this guy?”

I suppose that was a sign of how my relationship with my dad would develop as I grew into a young man: a sort of mutual self-discovery. 

When I was in elementary school, my father was two things: unserious and absent. His absence was not malicious; he simply spent all of my waking hours working or sleeping to recover from work. 

If I’m being honest, it felt like a special occasion whenever I got to see the guy.

The unserious factor did come with its problems, though. There would be weekends when our dad would be nowhere to be found, and he’d call us and say, “I’m in Nebraska,” or “I’m in Minnesota” or “I’m in Texas.” This erratic behavior put a strain on my mother, who already wasn’t doing a good job adjusting to a new country.

Recently, my dad’s mother passed away. Her passing brought an explosion of reflection to me and my family. Since the war broke out in Sudan, my dad has had to carry a bigger financial and emotional load in terms of taking care of his mom.​​ The stress was taking a toll on him, and I saw my dad in a state that I hadn’t seen him in before.

During that process, I was begging my dad to prioritize himself, urging him to draw harder boundaries with his family before he reached a breaking point. My grandmother’s passing and the ongoing grieving process have provided a wave of clarity for why he’s been pushing himself to this point.

Everyone who shared their condolences remarked how my father cared for his mother as no other man did. My grandmother lived in Saudi Arabia, and I was soothed by memories of my dad speaking to my grandmother every day, despite an eight-hour time difference. 

I was reminded of how many times my dad would drop everything and travel halfway across the world just so his mom could feel his presence.

As I began to look back on more than just what my dad did for my grandma, I’ve also noticed the sacrifices he’s made for me. Despite my dad’s 60-hour work week, he always managed to be there when I needed him. Whenever I was in the hospital, whether it was for something physical or mental, he was always there.

I’ve lived a very different life from my dad. Life in the West primarily focuses on performance. Your career, skills and abilities are what are valued beyond anything else. 

I’m not immune to this line of thinking by any means. In fact, being the children of immigrants increases this pressure tenfold.

The sacrifices my dad has made — his freedom, his time, his money and the intrinsic reward that he receives because of them — have made me completely reevaluate what matters in this short life we live. 

Do I want to be remembered as a great writer or journalist, or would I rather be remembered as a great son and father who would go to the ends of the earth for his family? Suddenly, the answer becomes pretty clear.

Less than two weeks after my grandmother passed, my dad got news of his cousin’s sudden death. My mother remarked at how he has gone from “sadness to sadness.” When I asked my dad how he felt, he said, “I’m grateful that I was given the time on this planet to spend with the people I love.”

The pain my dad has experienced and his simultaneous strength, has inspired my own reflection. Does getting that job matter that much? Is that beef with your friends that important? 

I don’t know the answers to those questions. What I do know is that our time here is limited, and I’d like to have the same reflections as my pops when it’s all said and done.