From the front of the car, his host mother, Ziena Saeed, marveled at his question. It was the first time Mohammed — the then 12-year-old boy from Ramadi, Iraq, who was brought to the U.S. for medical attention by a Michigan National Guard physician’s assistant — had been on the highway, and he was full of questions.

“It’s the same sun,” she told him.

“Is it the same moon?” Mohammed asked.

“It’s the same sun, moon, sky, everything,” Saeed told him. “It’s just you’re in a different part of the world.”

Months later, the time has come for Mohammed to return to the other part of the world.

It’s Sunday, and Saeed’s family stands in Lansing’s Capital City Airport, waiting for Maj. David Howell to arrive with Mohammed, who spent the last year receiving surgeries for burns suffered as an infant.

The Lansing community has spent the last week preparing for Mohammed’s departure. After the Michigan National Guard held a farewell ceremony, after Mohammed’s classmates raised their hands to read from letters they’d written to him, the Saeed family waits at the airport to say goodbye.

Someday, Saeed’s daughter, who was born during Mohammed’s stay, will look at pictures taken of her with Mohammed and ask who he is, Saeed said at the airport.

“When she grows up and says, ‘Who is this guy?’ we’re going to say, ‘That’s your other big brother,” she said.

And then Saeed looks away, wipes a tear.

“I’m just going to miss him so much,” she said. “It’s been an hour since he left, and my house is so quiet.”

In the airport, Howell says he’s lucky. He still has the flight back to Iraq to spend time with
Mohammed. He’ll be the last to say goodbye.

“I’m just not sure when we’re going to see him again,” Howell said.

Letters to Mohammed

I know you want to leave and stay at the same time.

You are so good at soccer. You are the best goalie out there.

I wish you the best when you go home.

These are the things Mohammed’s classmates had to say when they raised their hands during an assembly held Friday at the Greater Lansing Islamic School, 940 S. Harrison Road. Hands popped up, names were called and one by one, the students stood in front of Mohammed to say goodbye.

And then it was Mohammed’s turn to speak. Suddenly shy, Mohammed spoke in Arabic and Saeed translated.

“I’m glad I came here and met everybody,” Mohammed said through Saeed. It was about all he could manage before he started to cry.

Mohammed’s teacher, Mellissa Reed, gave Saeed an envelope filled with letters from his classmates to be read on the plane ride home.

Howell read the letters aloud Sunday at the airport at Mohammed’s request. They spoke of Mohammed’s talent in sports and his love for the Detroit Tigers. They said they would miss him, and they wished him happiness in the future.

Mohammed’s classmates are young, Reed said. They might not understand all the things she has wanted them to understand from his being here, but they’ll remember that he was here.

“Someday, they’ll look back and remember when they played host family for a young boy who came from nothing,” Reed said.

One family to another

Ali Naji, Saeed’s 8-year-old son, remembers the day he first met Mohammed. It was April 9, 2009, and Mohammed stood at the front of a room in the Michigan National Guard headquarters wearing a pair of traditional Iraqi pajamas, a Spider-Man hat and a pair of his brother’s shoes.

Ali watched as Howell talked about meeting Mohammed and as Mohammed was presented with a soccer ball from Gov. Jennifer Granholm.

“I saw him, and he was watching everything, and he got lots of presents, and I knew that was the person that was from Ramadi,” Ali said.

In the last year, Mohammed has gone through five surgeries. He’s gotten taller and gained weight. He’s had the functionality restored to his left hand.

He’s grown hair on parts of his scalp where it previously couldn’t grow because of scarring from the fire. He can now close his left eye.

In that time, he’s also become “like a brother to the family,” Ali said.

He’s been another player for baseball and another partner for the Xbox games Ali and his 10-year-old brother, Mohammed Naji, play. He’s taught them how to be faster and more aggressive soccer players.

“Now, there will just be two of us,” Ali said.

Saying goodbye is hard because Mohammed is part of the family.

“When you have a brother, and you have him for a while, and you’re used to it ­— like having him playing sports and playing video games — and then he isn’t there anymore … you’re going to feel the difference,” Mohammed Naji said.

They’ll see him again when they visit Iraq. Mohammed has promised to e-mail and call them when he gets back, he said.

Saeed said she knows it will be hard for her sons — hard for them to see his room and to see his bed.

But she thinks of Mohammed’s family in Iraq.

If she were on the other side, if she were Mohammed’s mother, she wouldn’t be able to wait to see him and the changes in him. She tells Mohammed he’s leaving one family but going back to another family.

“We say you’ve got one family that you’re leaving, but you’re going back to another, and we’re always going to be here for you,” Saeed said. “He can always tell people, ‘I’ve got my family in the U.S. who cares about me.’”

Mohammed and the Major

After Saeed and her sons left the airport Sunday, Howell and Mohammed pick up their bags — full of last-minute gifts for Mohammed — and head toward the gate. Howell tells Mohammed he’ll have to take off his shoes, and Mohammed asks why.

Howell is the only one who hasn’t yet had to say goodbye. His farewell will come after a series of flights and after meeting with Mohammed’s family. He knows he’ll have the long trip home to think about his separation from the boy who’s become like another son to him.

He doesn’t know when he will see Mohammed again, but says he and his fiancée will do everything they can to ensure they see him again. Perhaps if Mohammed excels in school, he’ll come back to the U.S. for college. If Mohammed gets a job and family and stays in Iraq, Howell will wait until it’s safe and fly there to meet him.

Their lives will revert back to normal, he said. He knows he’ll miss the phone calls from Mohammed — phone calls that come several nights a week to tell him about the Tigers and other little things — and he’ll miss Mohammed’s smile and sense of humor.

“I’m going to be real sad to see him go, and (my fiance) is going to be sad, and my family is going to be sad, but I don’t know,” Howell said. “We had a chance to do something good and to reach out and help somebody who really needed a lot of help. That’s a pretty satisfying feeling in doing that.”

See previous stories about Mohammed, including reports about his first surgical procedure by an MSU surgeon and the near-completion of his operations..