My father died in July 2003, when he was just 23 years old, when the pandemic was still in full swing.
He was taken to hospital in Lahore where he received treatment for polio.
But he did not live to see his 25th birthday.
A few days after his funeral, my father was admitted to the same hospital for the next three months.
After his discharge, my mother came to know that she would be unable to feed her four children.
The hospital told her that her father had died of a respiratory infection and that the hospital had started preparing for his funeral.
The next morning, she came to me and said, “The funeral will be at 5 pm and the funeral is at 6 pm.
I don’t want to go.”
The hospital also informed my mother that there was no space for her to be present at the funeral.
So, the next day, my wife and I went to the hospital to pay our respects to my father.
It was a sad day.
After my father died, my sister was left to raise her four daughters alone.
Since then, my family has lived in poverty.
It has taken all of our hard work and hard work by our doctors, nurses and volunteers to save our lives.
This year, we are seeking a free food truck for the funeral and for the cremation.
We also want to be able to have our funerals at our own house, which is close to the place where my father’s ashes were buried.
So we are hoping to have the trucks and cremations in a few days.
My family is a very humble family.
My father did not ask us to go hungry or to be poor, but he wanted us to have a dignified life.
It is only natural that we want a dignify life.