To The One Who Loved Us More than Himself

I woke up today to the worst feeling in the world...
Before I even opened my eyes, I heard a sound...
People talking...
"At 10... He will speak at 10..."

He’s going to tell us what happened in the war, I thought.

I jumped out of bed like a rocket and rushed to check the clock to see what time it was...
But when I looked, it was 9... and in that same moment, I knew...

Sayyed was gone...
He wasn’t going to speak...

It was all an illusion...
All just a dream...

It was the hardest feeling in the world... like when you’re six years old and your mom tells you, "If you clean your room, you can wear makeup today" only to realize that we don’t even own any makeup to begin with.

I had no idea that you could be an orphan with both parents still alive...

But today, all the free people of the world, especially those in Lebanon, have been orphaned. The passing of Sayyed has left us all without a father, without a protector. Suddenly, the world has "quieted," feeling heavier in his absence, because he wasn’t just carrying a nation, he was carrying the hearts and hopes of his people.

Some of you might ask, "What was the magnetic connection between Sayyed and his people?" I’ve spent all day asking myself that same question. We always knew we respected him, admired his sacrifices, and believed deeply in his mission. But now, after his passing, we realize just how much we loved him. And more importantly, how much he loved us in return. His love wasn’t just in words or speeches—it was love translated into action, sacrifice, and unwavering devotion.

Maybe that’s why the void he’s left feels so unbearable. Because deep down, we all know that no one will ever love us the way you did, Ya Sayyed.

Like a father who never counts the cost of his care, because protecting, guiding, and nurturing is just a part of his soul.

I was born in 1987, and your mission was already well underway long before that. By the time I was five, your voice and presence had become a fixture in every home. You were always with us, Abu Hadi, always present, even when we didn’t realize it. Sometimes I’d see your image on the walls of homes, sometimes on billboards in the streets... and most times on TV screens. But now that you’re gone, I realize you were etched into our hearts all along, ya ghali.

Ya Sayyed... I’ve been wondering, what happened when the angels of death came to embrace your pure soul? Did they see the light radiating from your face? Did they feel the warmth of your heart, the heart that held such a profound love for all people?
Now I understand what made us so attached to you... We saw it in the light of your face... we saw a reflection of the light of Muhammad and his family, a light we need in these dark and difficult times...

Ya Habibi, Ya Sayyed... You loved the southern suburbs of Beirut, and they loved you back. You were born and martyred there, and even in your last moments, you held on to that neighborhood—El Hara—that was the heartbeat of your youth. You refused to take your final breath anywhere but in its streets, among your people. This is not just a testament to your love for your homeland, but a testament to the purity of your soul. You gave your life to the land and its people, and in return, it cradled you in your final moments.

But Ya Sayyed, why did you have to endure all that pain? You sacrificed your eldest child as a martyr for our country. You lived your life under protection, away from your family. You watched your friends and companions leave, one by one. You lost your mother just months before we lost you. You carried so much, but you were never shaken, because you knew: "We belong to God, and to Him we shall return."

Ya Sayyed, you taught us that life must go on, that we must continue stronger than ever, that the mission doesn’t stop with one person. But how heavy, how lonely it feels to continue this path without you. Your absence is felt in every corner of our lives, in the streets where you once walked, in the hearts you touched with your words and actions.

We keep asking ourselves: When will you smile at us again from the screen? When will we once again analyze every gesture, every word? When will we laugh at your jokes and turn them into slogans? When will we see your dimples, hear your lisp, and watch your hands that were both strong and warm?
Now it’s your turn to pray for us.

Isn’t it remarkable, Ya Sayyed, how you embodied the best qualities of all those who taught us? You carried the wisdom of Sayyed Fadlallah, who was your spiritual mentor, the strength of Musa al-Sadr, from whose school you graduated, and the love of Imam Hussain, whose memory you held so dearly in your heart. This love shaped your entire life, guiding every decision you made, every action you took.

Ya Sayyed of Ishk (dearing love)... People may be surprised when we call you that, but it’s the truth. You taught us what true love is. True love is loving your country before anything else. True love is holding onto your values and principles, no matter the cost. True love is shedding tears for Hussain even when the world sees you as their commander, their leader.

Ya Sayyed, Ya Shaheed...
Today, the people of heaven rejoice while those of us on earth mourn. We have lost your physical presence, but somehow we feel you in every aspect of life. We feel you in the air, in the land you loved, in the hearts you touched. Your memory is not just a part of history; it is a living, breathing force that will continue to guide us for generations to come.

Forgive us, Ya Sayyed, for we only seem to love people more after they’re gone. And this time, the pain is unbearable...
May Allah grant you the paradise you always longed for, reunited with Hadi and with the Sayyed of martyrs and all the righteous.

If we miss you this much already, I can only imagine how much Hadi must have missed you all these years. Your reunion is bittersweet for us, but we take comfort in knowing that you are finally at peace, surrounded by those you loved and longed to be with.

Rest in peace, Ya Sayyed, and know that your love and your legacy will continue to guide us, even in the darkest of times. Your mission is not over, for you have left behind a generation of people who carry your torch, who will continue to walk the path you set before us. And though the road is long, and the journey difficult, we will never forget the lessons you taught us, the love you gave us, and the legacy you left behind.

Bi Amanillah, Ya Shaheed Allah.
“We won’t say goodbye, but rather, until we meet again.”