How These Days Passed-1

How These Days Passed-1

by Lizi Rahman

After the installation of Ghost Bike for Asif

Thursday, June 5th, 2008. 

Today we went to visit Asif's ghost bike on Queens Blvd. I was there on the day of the installation, which is about a month ago. But for my husband (Bachchu) and youngest son (Nafees) it was the first time. They didn't see it before. They even don't have any idea what is a Ghost Bike. Nafees is too young to know all the meaning, all he knows is his beloved brother was killed on Queens Boulevard, and someone put up a bike there. 

Little did I know about Ghost Bikes before Asif's accident! I think I've first heard about ghost bikes from Moumita, my daughter. Few days after Asif's accident she told me, 'Mom, I'll have Asif's bike painted in white and place it at the accident site, it's called 'ghost bike'. They do it whenever a bicyclist is killed.' Sometime after that one of Asif's friends, Asi Klein, told me that there is a group called 'Ghost Bike Project'. They paint a bike in white paint and place the bike near the accident site. I should get in touch with that group. Accordingly, I contacted them. As a result, almost after five months of Asif's accident, we were able to have this ghost bike erected by the road where he was killed. They didn't use the actual bike that Asif was riding, this is another bike that the volunteers painted  in white, and chained it next to the accident spot on Queens Boulevard. They even put up a beautiful plaque, which has his name, date of birth and date of accident on a big white board in bold black writing.

So, today we all went there together.  I know we will never see Asif, but his accident spot became a sacred place for us, especially to me. This is the place where he took his last breath, this is the place where he saw the world for the last time. Whenever I visit his accident site, I feel his presence there. I look at the oncoming traffic, and visualize him riding his bike next to those fast moving cars. Having a memorial there is important for me. Way before the ghost bike was erected, many of Asif's friends from Queens College came to visit the spot. They placed flowers, cards, memorabilia on the very same pole. The bike, along with the memorial plaque, stood on the sidewalk near the accident spot, chained to a pole. Its a reminder of the meaningless, senseless, heartless killing of my son, Asif. 

Ever since the day Asif was born, I've tried to protect him from all the evil, harsh words, ill-treatments or harassment all through my life. I've defended him whenever someone treated him badly. .He was born premature. I've witnessed his helpless little body lying inside a small incubetor in the busy ICU of the Children's Hospital in Dhaka. Doctors and nurses were trying frantically to keep him alive. When he came home I took extra precautions to keep him safe and alive.  We celebrated all his birthdays with great joy. When he was in high school in Texas, a kid bullied him. When I found out about it I was furious. I called his parents and the school authority right away. Some people might think I over reacted, but that's how I am. I always wanted my babies to be happy, secure and safe. But in the end, I couldn't protect him from a reckless, careless truck driver... I accompanied Asif everywhere. The first day of his school, his first graduation from kindergarten, his elementary graduation, high school graduation..... I wished to be at his college graduation, at his wedding, at his child's first birthday....... but all my dreams came to a halt. Now, all I can do is to go visit his grave, and his memorial ghost bike.

My baby was coming home from work. The morning of the accident, Asif woke up before me. Asif, Moumita, Nafees and I, we all used to leave the house at around the same time in the morning. Which had a good side, we could see each other in the morning, eat breakfast together, and say goodbye to each other. But it also had created problems in the morning, because we had only one shower. We all needed to use the bathroom in the morning, especially Asif and Moumita both loved to take a shower in the morning, which took up a lot of time. Almost every morning I had to act as a referee between Moumita and Asif. I was begging Asif to use the bathroom earlier, way before Moumita wakes up. That's what he has been doing.   On the morning of February 28th, by the time I woke up. Asif already took a shower. He made  his breakfast, and was sitting at the dining table, eating. If I woke up earlier it would give us more time to talk to him, but I woke up late that morning. Amidst the morning rush, we were able to exchange a few words. While he was putting his shoes on, I reminded him about wearing his helmet. 

I was being very cautious not to offend him, so I asked him as a matter of fact, "You are wearing your helmet, right?" 
He answered, "Yes ma."
I mentioned, "You know what happens if you get hit, you'd be injured." It didn't even cross my mind that when people get hit, they could die. All I could think of brain injuries or losing a body limb. Again I told him, "Please, leave the house at least 15 minutes earlier so that you don't have to rush on your way to work. Give yourself some extra time." I
We lived on t he third floor. Everyday Asif carried his bike downstairs, and carried it back up to the third floor. Taking his bike down, Asif answered, "Yeah ma, I'm leaving early." That's the last time I saw him.

Earlier in the morning, Asif asked me if I called the cellphone company, which I didn't. Asif was on my cellphone family plan, but due to my financial problems I couldn't pay the big bill. When I told him, he told me take his account off, he would apply for his own account, but couldn't get his own account. He asked me  to add him in my plan again. I wasn't sure what type of phone he would like to have, so didn't call the company without him. I promised him that I would call the cellphone company after he comes home that day. 


But, he didn't come home that day. He still hasn't come home. He won't come home ever, I can't believe it.

                      To be Cont'd...