Twelve hours. That's all it took for my world to be turned upside down.
Like many Lebanese living abroad, I had a flight booked to Beirut for the holidays on December 18 at 9am. The plan was to land in Lebanon early and go straight from the airport to the hospital where my 51-year-old uncle was being treated for cancer.
I was packed, I was scared, but at least I was going home. I'll feel better once I'm with my family, I kept telling myself. Once I see and speak to him. No one could cheer him up like I could, after all. He was my best friend.
My uncle died on December 17, at 9pm sharp. A mere 12 hours before my flight. Twelve hours before I got a chance to say goodbye.
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