On snowy winter days, next to sandals, we listened to sweet stories from my mother, joked with our neighbor's children, fought, reconciled soon after. Our childhood happiness was those street games. Life was going on with such pleasant days. One day we were busy making snowballs in the middle of our yard, hearing the news of the arrival of a new guest at our house. I did not know, maybe because I love children, I expected him to grow up very quickly. It was the second day from the birth of the prince, we would argue with our family to choose his name. When I said Muhammad, my brother said Ahmad, my mother wanted to give him a name, which is Mustafa, and my dad wanted to join what his other sons said. Finally, all of us were left blank, and the name my mother told us were chosen, that is, we agreed to name my little brother Mustafa. Mustafa was the candle light of our house, we were a propeller, we were spinning on its top. We had to make a vaccine for his health, so after a week his treatment ended. Just like any other night, this evening we were sitting together near the cradle of Mustafa, laughing and speaking together with him. I do not know for some reason my brother's health deteriorated, that is, he himself fainted. We were all surprised, our eyes were blind, we could not see the right way, my mother's voice, my child, was barely heard! My brother lay with light from his eyes with his red winter clothes, where now if such glowing eyes open! Where their lovely voices come out with a cry song! My mother shouted, my daughter in a hurry, break some dishes. I do not know if this was an old tradition left over from our ancestors, our people thought that it was useful to break dishes on such days. My mother did it herself, unable to bear the fact that I was looking. But where would this work give results?! Where does my brother open his eyes?! On the snowy days of that winter, a car was also not found in our village, so long as we took my brother to the hospital. Our father brought the imam of our neighbourhood, read the verses of the Quran. My brother remained so long after this happened. We were laughing at home with my brother, and suddenly his health is again deteriorated, unable to breathe terribly scared me. My mother was baking bread in the oven that day. I didn't know what happened to the bread on that day, who baked it?! Mommy wept and took my brother to the hospital. I waited for my brother by the door, I cried, why my brother remained that way. I thought when I would take my brother in my arms. We waited a lot, but there was no news, finally in the evening my brother's phone heard a ringing sound, if he answered, it turned out that dad. We are all glad to hear my father's voice, when did we ask you to come? They said they couldn't come tonight and told my brothers that they looked good at us. We were happy to know their situation, but this evening our house looked very quiet and dark. We were all waiting for my brother again in the morning. Unfortunately, these expectations took too long! Too much, that is, by sixteen days, the prince of our house came. But it was the last day I would wait for them to come crying. Seeing Mustafa was a new life of tolerance for us. My dad with my mother was very tired, but even then my two eyes did not lose my brother. I asked my brother why he stayed in the hospital for so long after they had some rest. They replied that nothing had happened, only a little cold. Even though we are children, we do not agree with this and ask my mother again: there will be nothing for my brother, right? My mother laughed like this by stroking us in the head: - Of course… But the evening was very good in my brother's state. We all laughed together and prayed to my God. I cooked “samsa” that night. When the “samsa” was ready, we also gave it to our neighbour, and then we all ate together, Mustafa was smiling in the cradle. Now we would ask God that he would not be ill again. This night sky stars flashed more. We haven't been in peace for a long time, it was a holiday for us late. Until midnight, we were all lying in peace. At that moment, my mother came and said that my brother's condition was not good. Indeed, my brother was not in good condition, breathing very hard. This time, his condition was different. He would take the last breaths of his life. It was very difficult to state this situation. My father's moaning, my mother's word mixed cry is still in my eyes. Dad would cry and repeat this word: - May your father sacrifice to you, Mustafa, open your eyes! Please lovely son! Our house was covered by the sound of mourning. This event made our yard very dark, no one wanted to stay in this house, we had no hope of living, my brother smelled pleasant from all corners of our house. Unfortunately, the treatment of this patient was impossible in Afghanistan.
