It is no coincidence you left for Mother's Day... God wanted you to celebrate this day with your own mother and find rest in her arms. Now every March 21, I will inevitably think of you first, of the mother you were to all those who held you dear. A mother who wrapped us all in her love, smiled at us despite her pain and offered us her tenderness and affection every time we knocked at her door.

I called you almost every day to check on you and give you strength, yet it was I who ended up drawing it from you. "We, the girls from the North, we are fighters," you always told me. "You’re so much like me, Ratrout: You always think of others first, you give your all to your job, you often get carried away by emotion, stress, or sorrow... But all that made me sick, don’t be like me." I don’t really know if or to what extent I resemble you. But what is certain is that you have always been a role model to me. In this profession, where you established yourself as an exceptional figure, everyone's friend yet you never lost your objectivity, the brave reporter who ran towards danger instead of fleeing it, the trusted correspondent whom the scoop found, the moderator who lit up the screen with each appearance... always beautiful (whether with your hair square, a wig, or a scarf), always elegant, always smiling.

But especially in life. This life that was not kind to you, but which you faced with courage. And above all, with dignity.

I will never forget the last time I saw you. You hugged me tightly. And as usual, you emptied your fridge to set the table. "You surely haven’t eaten anything! I have moujaddara. I also have stuffed zucchini. And Moni’s pickles, as spicy as you like them." That day, I had already eaten, but I lied to you: I had learned from your sister that you hadn’t eaten anything all day, and I told you I couldn’t eat unless you joined me. And there we were, the two of us, forcing our appetites so the other could eat as well... Without saying a word. Until you suddenly said, "I’m tired ya Ratrout... I no longer have the desire or strength to fight." How could I answer you? I didn’t know. I first opted for "Do you have olives?" You smiled. "I’m not afraid to leave, I’m afraid of making you sad." I then told you, looking you in the eye: "You have to fight for us. There are many of us who love you and don’t want to let you go. Yes, we might be selfish, but you never have been..." You sighed, then offered me dessert.

That day, maybe you knew it was the last time you’d see me. "What can I leave you of myself?" you asked me, your eyes bright. "Stop talking like that!" I replied. But you didn't listen. You opened your bag and pulled out a relic of Saint Charbel. "It’s my most precious possession. Keep it in your wallet always." The relic is in my wallet, and you, you will stay in my heart, my Hoda.

Forgive me. On Monday, you told me and insisted: "Come see me before or after work, I miss you." But my week was busy. I was overwhelmed by the news and this profession to which we both gave everything. And I kept saying, "Tomorrow, for sure." I planned to come on Saturday, you know? It was my day off and I could stay without checking my watch every two minutes... But I didn’t have time... Why didn’t you wait for me? Why didn’t I understand? Even leaving this world, you taught me a lesson at my own expense: to no longer postpone anything until tomorrow.

I’m not sad that you left. On the contrary. Now, you are with Ziad, the man of your life whom you chose to marry against all odds, the illness, the will of your parents... to become a widow five months later. With your mother, whom you missed terribly. "I regret greatly the worry I caused her and the years I spent away from her," you told me. And with Charbel, whom you regularly visited in Annaya to find peace. You are in a place that resembles you. A place of serenity, of purity... where you no longer have to fight against anything.

I'm sad because I’m left in a world that has become much uglier and colder... without you.

I love you, Hodhod.