The rain. The thunder. The cold. The crying. The quiet. And a whole population mourning. I think the day King Hussein died is a day that is ingrained in my memory. The storm outside was unforgettable and somehow seemed fitting for the moment. I remember that Jordan was so quiet that every drop of rain outside resonated. Not a car on the road. Everyone was at home, glued to a television set. Just crowds and crowds of people at the medical city, standing in the quiet rain. Waiting. Praying.
Days before it happened, I remember everyone being cheerful when he flew the plane back to Jordan. I remember him praying on the runway. In the days to follow, I remember people just walking around in a daze. Sad, and unsure of how to return to a state of normalcy in a seemingly abnormal and dark atmosphere.
It’s strange when someone is weaved into the fabric of a country so delicately; it feels incomplete without him. Nearly a decade later, I think that loss is still felt today. And while I know I don’t have a history on the Black Iris of remembering this day, today, it just felt like a good time to remember.
God rest his soul.