Eulogy
By Maria A. Iskandar
(Waleed's cousin and same age)
“Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let airplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message: He Is Dead.”

When I first started writing this, this was the first thing that came to mind. I am sure a lot of you recognize it; it’s the poem from “4 weddings and a funeral”: a movie Waleed and I always quoted back and forth at each other. The poem described so well my feelings at the loss of my cousin, my brother, and my best friend. Then I realized how selfish I was being. I was describing my own pain, but not the person that he actually was. A person who, unfortunately, none of you here knew. And trust me, had you known him, you would have never forgotten him. And I know he would have been honored, just as I am, that you are all here, mourning his loss.

But Waleed would have never wanted anyone to mourn his death. On the contrary: he would have wanted us to celebrate his life. A life filled with love, joy, and laughter, pain, and great emotional traumas, and, as anyone who knew him would know – lots and lots of work!

Waleed and I grew up together, and always joked about leading parallel lives.
We both had two older siblings, who were “too cool” to be seen hanging out with us kids.
We were – and I’m sure only the Lebanese of you would understand – “fistuk fadeh” –
which means we got to play with them, but never really counted.

So we started our own camp. We had our own language, our own jokes, and our own friends. I remember how much fun he made of me, when we were acting out Cinderella in a school play: he got to be Prince Charming, and I had to be the ugly sister! We discovered life together, we shared our secrets, our dreams and fears, and we both became workaholics. We irritated the hell out of our parents, and we used to compare notes and complain to each other and laugh about how our parents always nagged at us to do all the “right things” like save for a rainy day, and get married and start a family, just like our siblings.

But we wanted to be different, and we promised each other three things:
one, we would never get mad at each other, never complain about who called whom more often.
Two, we would never count calories when we were together, and most importantly,
three; we would never regret the things we’ve done, just the things we didn’t.

He kept his promise. Life to him was an adventure, and he ate it up with both hands. He had to master everything he did, from work, to sports, to being a real friend to all who knew him. He earned his MBA from Harvard and became indispensable to his company, Monitor. His Palm was so full it barely fit the numbers of his friends and family. But that was only the half of it.

He toured with the Grateful Dead. He took 6 months off (which is no small feat for a workaholic) toured the world. He spent three days living in a monastery with monks. He went on safaris in Africa, and explored the rainforests of South America. He biked through Europe. He would call me from Venezuela one day, from Hawaii the next, from Turkey the day after, and from places I had never even heard of, and tell me that the food is great and the language is easy. He would drop by unannounced in Frankfurt and take me out to Sushi. And more Sushi. And more Sushi. I would make up any excuse to go to London, and we would make all sorts of plans to go out, only to end up in the hotel room, ordering room service and the best wine, having pillow fights, laughing, crying and jabbering away until dawn.

I really can’t believe that I am doing this. I can’t believe I am standing here, speaking about him as though he were dead. Waleed is, for me, so alive, so much more alive than I ever was. He embraced life and everything about it. Despite – and maybe even in spite of – his suffering. His suffering at the loss of his loved ones, his dearest uncle, his grandparents. And - most tragically - the loss of his beloved girlfriend Mirel to leukemia.

His brother and I were discussing this morning how to write about Waleed, having read the eulogy he wrote for Mirel – we could never live up to that, we could never live up to him, and I guess that’s what makes him an even more special person. He stood by Mirel till her last second, and gave her all the love and strength she needed to go peacefully. He had an inner strength that was a source of unshakeable optimism, to him and all around him. At around the same time, I had suffered a similar loss, although not half as tragic. Still, he was the one who consoled, comforted and inspired me, he was the one who reawakened my optimism and belief, and helped me find the joy of life. And I have many memories of sleepless nights, empty bottles of wine, hysterical laughter and tears, and horribly hung over meetings the next day to prove it.

He revived my belief in love when he met his new fiancée, Nicolette. Despite his fear, despite his apprehension, he jumped into it head on, and gave it all he got. He spoke to me of living with the living, and taking advantage of each moment, and sneering in the face of fear. He was truly someone who “danced like no one was watching, sang like no one was listening and loved like he had never been hurt” – although many of us who knew him would have wished he had avoided the first two!

I guess what I am trying to do is to tell you all the things that I was never able, that I had never even thought of telling him. He would have laughed his head off at me if I had! Coz things like that you never tell the people you love, you take it for granted that they know already.

So here I am, telling you and hoping he’s here listening to me. And hearing how much I admired him, how much I appreciated him, much I loved him, and how much of a difference he made in my life. How much I loved it that he listened, understood, and talked to me. How blessed I was to have known him. How much he made me laugh, cry, and just simply be grateful to be alive.

So if anyone ever asks you, if you ever knew Waleed Iskandar,
you should be able to say yes, he was Maria’s hero.