It was an extraordinary Monday morning by all measures. The sun was shining and there wasn’t a single cloud in the crisp, bright sky. At the same time, it was a day that I never wanted to come. 

It was 10 in the morning and time for the countdown for Kay Siblani’s funeral services, then to the grave site where she would be laid to rest.

It is not easy to bury one of your best friends, even though she understood and we were told by her physicians that she is at the “end of her line.” I never expected the emotional storm that has engulfed me since the news of her passing. 

It was hard to digest the fact that she is dead, now I have to deal with the everlasting bruises of me burying her.

As members of her family and close friends started to arrive at the funeral home, reality started sinking in that it would be only a couple of hours until she would be gone forever. I couldn’t hold my outpouring emotions as I stood by her side looking at her, laying there peacefully. 

I felt her presence, I could almost hear her assure me that everything will be alright, and she was thankful to the outpouring sympathy and sincere sorrow from so many people who drove from far away to pay respects and bid her farewell. She loved people, all people. 

Publisher of The Arab American News Osama Siblani places a rose inside Kay Siblani’s grave on Monday. PHOTO: Nafeh AbuNab

I know she was smiling at all of us as she laid in her coffin with a cross shining on her and a copy of the holy Qur’an to her right side. She was eulogized by a priest and an imam, as well as other community leaders. 

Earlier on Saturday I asked the distributors of The Arab American News to deliver the first copy of the edition that carried the news of her death with her picture on the front pages of both Arabic and English sections, to the funeral home. I took a copy of the paper, issue 1404, and laid it on her hands, assuring her that it came out on time, as she always wished and demanded even when she was in her hospital bed fighting one wave of cancer after another. I wanted her to know that it wasn’t easy to put out this edition of the paper, with the headlines of her death. 

It was very difficult to write, edit and prepare this edition; at times it was unbearable and extremely emotional. But, I told her that “this one was for the Gipper;”  despite the greatest loss that we endured and the vacuum her demise left behind, we drew the strength and the determination from her as we struggled to put this issue to bed. The copy of the newspaper accompanied her to eternity.

Nothing broke my heart more than seeing the wailing of the grandchildren as the time came to close the casket. They assembled around her coffin grabbing her hands, kissing her forehead while crying their hearts out. I had to make the decision that it was time to go, the casket was closed and as we proceeded with the procession of only family and a few friends, my memory traveled through the last twenty years, and I was overwhelmed with the notion that I will not have the benefit anymore of calling her or sending her an email asking for advice, on this subject or that subject, or an opinion on matters that pertain to our community. It’s like I lost my lifeline. 

Kay wasn’t only the editor of the English section of this paper, she was an active participant and a main contributor on issues pertaining to our Arab community whether it was a discrimination case that we needed to expose or AAPAC campaign literature that we were preparing to launch. 

In the Dearborn school fight that led to the expansion of schools on the east side of Dearborn and in every election we participated in for the last 15 years, Kay was a silent warrior and a major player in shaping our campaigns. 

We arrived at the cemetery. Kay chose a spot on the hill by her father’s grave, at the far end of the graveyard, on the hill overlooking the woods; it was so peaceful. God was present, I have no doubt. She loved nature, fishing was her favorite and camping with the grandchildren was a yearly ritual. There on the hills overlooking her grave is a statue of an angel on a horse guarded by two lions. (By the way, one of the lions’ names in Arabic is Osama).  We circled her grave as her casket rolled down and bid her farewell with roses and stream of tears.

Monday was a beautiful and peaceful, but a truly sad day in my life. 

Great people never die, they live in our memories and in the memory of future generation forever. That is where Kay belongs. Farewell my comrade.