I remember the first day I met Nada Siddiqui. A warm September day in Princeton, New Jersey. I got on a bus going to Walmart. She did as well. We sat next to each other - two foreigners who hadn't a clue what we were doing - and in that moment, we became friends.

I remember flying to Pakistan for her wedding; I remember her flying to Tobago for mine.  And I remember the beach in Tobago at sunset when she ran into the sea in her bridesmaid's dress in celebration.

I remember July 4, 2011 when we watched fireworks with our husbands on the banks of the Charles and talked about having children one day.

I remember October 2011 when she called me to tell me she was pregnant.  Eight months later, I would tell her I was too.

I remember Manhattan in January 2012 when I found out that my friend Nada had given birth to a beautiful baby girl in Cambridge. Her name was Rehma.

I remember June 2012 in Chicago when newly pregnant, I asked Nada what being a mother was like. She told me the joy was incredible, the love indescribable. I could feel all her joy, all her love, all her life, for that baby girl.

So I remember January 2013. I remember getting an email from Nada. Her email asked us to pray and pray and pray because baby Rehma, on her first birthday, was fighting for her life in a Boston hospital.

And I remember the day in January when Nada told us that despite the very best efforts of the children's hospital in Boston, Rehma had died.

I remember the first time I saw Rehma. March 2012. She was seven weeks old. She was asleep in her swing. She had a mother who watched over her, a father who adored her, and a lifetime ahead of her.

I remember the second time I saw Rehma. October 2012. She was nine months old. She had just learned to crawl and was scooting all over my house with a delighted smile on her face. 

I remember the last time I saw Rehma. January 2013. She was one year old. One short, magical, year after she entered the world, her mother and father wrapped her in a white sheet and laid her in the ground to rest.

It has now been three months since Rehma left us. Yesterday, Nada and Sameer shared how they want to remember their daughter - the Rehma Fund for Children.

Nada and Sameer want to give children fighting for their lives the chance to live and to thrive. They also want to give other children, those who despite best efforts will pass into eternity, final days filled with joy.
The link below will take you to the fund's page. 


I donated in memory of Rehma. But I also donated in memory of two little girls on a bus in New Jersey about to embark on an adventure of a lifetime. Nada and I hoped that our daughters would share the same adventures we shared. But now they won't.  I'm sad they'll never exchange their "YES!!!" letters, never pass notes in freshman seminar, never eat Cheetos at 3am on Dean's Date, never live in a Pink House, never sing in Blair Arch, never dance together at their weddings, and never hold each other's child in their arms.  I'm sad that Rehma will never share with my daughter the joys I have shared with her mother every day for the past thirteen years.

But I'm hopeful that because of Rehma and because of this fund, many other children will have the amazing adventures that Rehma never will.

Rehma, Rehma, Rehma. You are missed. You are loved. And you are remembered.  Please donate in remembrance of a beautiful little baby girl, Rehma Sabir. May the heavens sing her name forever.