We didn’t get the chance to talk to you during your lifetime, but perhaps these words can reach you now.

We could be anyone, a boy or girl, man or woman, young or old, Christian or Muslim, religious or agnostic…It doesn't really matter. We’re the millions whose lives you’ve impacted, here to say a few words to you.

Where to start?…

Maybe somewhere near the beginning?

Many perhaps didn’t take you seriously at first, after all yours was still somewhat a movement that hadn’t yet proven itself against the Israelis, and you were... what? 31? when you became the leader of the Resistance? Even though you yourself were against handling such a great task, you shouldered it when it was thrust upon you, placing your complete trust in God so that he’d aid you in your endeavor.

That in and of itself was a lesson you taught us; us who are scrounging for answers in these dark times; us who are so used to looking to you for answers…

It was a hard few years for you, that we know. Between the Israeli occupation and its collaborators planted everywhere, the torture your fighters and people had to endure in prison, the overwhelming disparity between your capabilities and those of the Israelis, you sacrificed a lot for our wellbeing, including your own son, who was martyred on this very path.

Still, you stood strong, until you gifted us with liberation. Even then, you called it an achievement of the Lebanese people, and didn’t think to capitalize on it for political gain for one second.

Many of us can still hear your victory speech in Bint Jbeil echoing in our hearts and minds. Many of us, to this day, continue to think back to that highlight, when you called “Israel” “weaker than a spider’s web”, reminding ourselves of it in times of uncertainty to keep in mind how weak and fragile of an enemy we have.

We all saw what happened in the region after. The Americans swooped in, destroying and looting Iraq, and the takfiri insurgence began in the region. It was unbelievable for us at the time to hear how the Iraqi Resistance movements were indebted to you for the work you did in organizing their ranks to fight the occupying forces.

Then came what was for many of us the defining moment. Sure, the Israelis withdrew from Lebanon in 2000, but in 2006, they’d been preparing for months. It caught us all by surprise, and we were worried what was to become of us. They wrought destruction on our homes, killed our people on the roads, targeted families, ambulance crews, it was devastating.

But then…you spoke. We couldn’t believe it. You spoke with us through the radio while our houses and neighborhoods were being shelled by the Israelis, our friends and family killed by their bombing. You told us to look at the Israeli warship that destroyed our homes as it caught fire from your missiles across the coast…and it was unbelievable.

Did you ever get to know the immense joy we felt at the time? Just minutes ago we were hearing bombing and shelling, and then the next, we could only hear your message being replayed over and over on television screens and radios. If only you could’ve seen us going to our balconies and rooftops, or riding motorcycles to head to the coast, just to catch a glimpse of that ship, only because you said “look at it burning.”

If only you could’ve seen us then…

Then, after the war ended with our victory, you went on stage and called us “the most honorable people,” and why? Just because we had faith in you and felt that our lives were in good hands? It almost felt like we were unworthy of such high praise, yet here you were, telling us we were part of this victory.

But you didn’t catch any breaks; You lost your dearest brother Hajj Imad in 2008, and though we didn’t know him at the time, it was your sadness that weighed heavy on our hearts.

Even after that, the war on Syria began, and the takfiri onslaught threatened the entire region, closing in on Damascus and mass murdering people. You knew what was at stake. You made a difficult decision that wasn’t clear for many at the time; but for us, you couldn’t have made it clearer: “Zeinab will not be taken prisoner twice.”

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We, who are so invested in your wisdom, and have learned to look beyond the horizon with you, knew that if they had their way, not one of us would be safe, especially when they set up camp in Lebanon’s eastern border towns.

You should’ve seen us then. We were glued to our tv and phone screens all day back then, listening in disbelief as you liberated town after town, until the liberation was over, and the takfiri threat dismantled.

So many people know you as the leader of Hezbollah, the Resistance, some even called you the undisputed leader of the axis, but you were so much more than that…

We grew up listening to your sermons. You know? Sure, you might not have seen us, but we waited passionately for you to come on stage or on camera, so we could feel at peace, so you could mold our lives and tell us how to live honorably.

If only you could look into our hearts and see what effect you had during the nights of Muharram, how your speeches breathed life into our heavy hearts. And then, after all that sadness, there you were on the day of Ashura telling us to live like Imam Hussein, defiant and proud.

We know you felt a great deal of sadness because your situation forced you to be cut off from us and couldn’t experience our joy at your sight firsthand… but if only you could see the smile you put on our faces when you used to crack the tiniest jokes, the immense sadness we felt deep inside when you cried, and the anger we felt when yours resonated against injustice.

We used to worry about you, too. You used to miss us so much that you’d risk your life to see us, even if it was for a few minutes. You’d say your speech without a care in the world, and there we were, lost in feelings of immense joy coupled with fear for your safety, constantly praying nothing would happen to you and take you away from us. Because what life is worth living if you’re not in it?

You raised us right…

Whenever things got dark and people floundered, whenever someone we knew was martyred, friends of family, we knew, thanks to what you taught us, that we were doubtlessly headed to victory. We grew to live through your certainty in God, and as soon as you said, “the time of defeats is gone, and now is the time of victories,” We knew that we would only see victory at the end of the day, no matter how hard the battle.

So when the war on Gaza began a year ago, and you promised us all in the region victory, we rallied behind you, knowing without a shred of doubt that we’d vanquish the Israelis yet again, and hoping to God that we’d be able to free Palestine from the occupation in this battle and see you praying at al-Aqsa, like you always wished you would. 

That is why the other day when we heard the news, we couldn’t believe it.

Some looked around in disbelief, some broke down crying, and some had something inside them broken forever.

You were such an integral part of our lives, and we’re supposed to just… believe you were taken away from us? Just… gone?

You know how the companions of Imam Hussein said they wouldn’t leave him when he told them they were free to go on that final night? And how they said they couldn’t go on with their lives if they left him to die alone on that battlefield?

Now we know what it would have felt like for them to stay alive without him.

Everything in this world has lost meaning for many, the death of loved ones just pales in comparison to what your loss brought upon our lives.

It’s true that in Islam, a martyr is brought to a higher plane of existence, and is still alive. But many still can’t bring themselves to call you a martyr. Maybe it’s because we still feel your presence, Sayyed; still fully expecting that you’ll talk to us about Imam Hussein next Moharram.

We just can’t believe it won’t be you talking to us on the day of Ashura…