This Eid, we remember Syria’s disappeared

My life was shattered on September 14, 2014, when my son, Samer Reda Abdelfattah, was seized by the Syrian regime.

Samer was only 29 years old when he was detained. A father of three children, he is a kind and respectful man, loved by everyone around him. His youngest child was only five months old when Samer was taken from us.

I will never forget the last time I heard from my son. He left our house early in the morning after Fajr prayer. Samer was working as a bus driver and that day was transporting students from Atarib to Mamoun University in Aleppo when he was stopped at a regime checkpoint and taken into custody.

Last time we heard from Samer, he was still at the checkpoint. His father called him at 11 a.m. to ask him to pick up groceries from Aleppo on his way home. Samer pretended nothing was wrong, he had no reason to suspect otherwise.

Minutes later we received a call from a man at the checkpoint. He told us that Samer had been detained. My other son rushed to the checkpoint and begged for Samer’s release, but was told to leave or risk being taken too. It was heartbreaking for him to have to leave his brother in danger.

The moment I heard the news that my son had been detained, my heart sank and I began to pray. Since then I have not stopped praying. We have tried everything to secure Samer’s release, but military officials repeatedly tell us that they don’t know why Samer was taken and that we must wait.

Samer has now been gone for eight and a half years. While we can’t be sure he’s alive, my heart tells me he is.

Ramadan is a particularly difficult time for our family – I am filled with bittersweet memories of Samer. Our time together was always joyful as he had a knack for telling jokes and cheering everyone up.

One of his favorite things about Ramadan was gathering around the iftar table with our family. He often asked me to prepare any dish for him with wings that could fly, and we laughed at his love of grilled chicken.

Samer also had a sweet tooth and loved knafeh, although he was always friendly when I made other desserts and said they were delicious.

He was a genuinely nice person and his absence has left a void at our iftar table. To honor Samer’s memory, I prepare his favorite dishes and set aside his portion to donate to those in need.

Four months ago, we received news of a former Daraa detainee recently released from Sednaya Prison, Syria’s most notorious detention center. He told us that Samer was being held in an underground cell there. He said that while Samer had told him the names of his wife and two older children, he had forgotten the name of his youngest child. I wonder what those monsters did to my son in the dungeons of the al-Assad regime to make him forget his own son’s name.

Hearing the news that he might still be alive gave me some hope. Together with thousands of mothers whose children have been forcibly disappeared or detained, I await my child’s release. I joined two and a half years ago Families for freedoma women-led movement of Syrian families advocating for the freedom of all the missing sons and daughters in Syria, as I wanted to find solidarity in my struggle.

With over 100,000 prisoners and missing persons in Syria, I knew I was not alone. Our goal as a movement is to bring attention to our loved ones who are missing and to fight tirelessly for their freedom.

We want our loved ones to know that we are doing everything we can to bring them back, and we urge the international community to support us in putting pressure on the Syrian government to release all prisoners. One of the things we are asking for is that the United Nations establish an independent and international agency that will help families like ours find out the whereabouts of their loved ones.

Seeing my son free again sometimes feels like a distant dream, but the news of occasional releases has me holding on to the hope that one day I’ll get a call or a knock on the door and it will be him.

Every day I wish he would come back, I wish I could see him and talk to him.

My dear son Samer, you would be proud of your children; they grow up to be good young men, just like you. Your memory will always stay with me. I give zakat in your name, in the hope that God will protect you and bring you back to us safely. I will keep fighting for you.

As we celebrate another Eid without him, I am reminded of his absence and long for his jokes and warm presence. My determination to see him again keeps me going, and I will not stop fighting until he and all the prisoners in Syria are free.

The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial view of Al Jazeera.