Maher Qassir

My name is Maher. I was the eldest son in a family of three boys and two girls. I shared a special bond with my dear mother. She always had my back. Even that day when I took the car and crashed it, she luckily managed to sort out the situation with the other driver. I introduced her to Marcel Khalifeh’s songs. I would play them on the guitar for hours. In fact, I was thinking of becoming a professional guitar player - that, or studying business management. These dreams came to an end on the 17th of June 1982, when I never came back home. I was 15 years old.

From that day on, my mother struggled to find me. She could not accept and mourn the loss of her son without knowing what happened, without having a grave to find peace. Nothing had any meaning anymore. She wanted to be close to me, dead or alive. She tried to find some relief by dedicating her art to painting me and thus kept me present in her life. Today each room of her apartment is filled with portraits of me.

But she was still feeling lost, searching for the place where she could be with me. Few years ago, on the day of my disappearance, she went to put a rose at the place where I went missing. The last place I was seen before vanishing has become the only marker, the only thing that has meaning for her and that can lessen her torment. Since then, my mother planted a tree in my memory, and she now visits this place every time she needs to be close to me.

I would like so much for her to find relief. My name is Maher Qassir, my mother is Maryam Saide. Do not let our story end here.