If I had to summarize what Saturday, 1 January 2022, felt like, I would say: “Never in my life did I feel so helpless, as I did on that day. But never in my life did I receive help, like I did on that day. When I could find no strength of my own to carry on, Allah SWT supported me with His. And whatever I experienced was enough for me to know, without any doubt, that Allah SWT is sufficient for me.”
– PART ONE –
Life’s Lessons
The realisation came to me that Saturday morning, that all my problems weren’t going to be solved just because I prayed for it to be solved. Sometimes Allah SWT expects a little more from us, a little bit of effort. And I learnt that, just like our prayers to Him, our deeds done for Him, can be the keys for unlocking His mercy.
This realisation wasn’t unique to me. Musa (AS), Maryam (AS) and even Muhammad (SAW) experienced it.
Musa (AS) had to make the effort of striking the sea with his staff, before the sea would sea split apart for him. And Maryam (AS) had to make the effort of shaking the trunk of the palm tree, before its dates would fall down for her. [See Qur’an 26:63 and 19:25].
And then there’s this extraordinary story of our Prophet Muhammad (SAW): It was the next day after the Battle of Uhud, and the Prophet Muhammad (SAW) and his companions were injured and exhausted. The Prophet (SAW) sent out an instruction – the same soldiers who had participated in the battle of Uhud just the day before, must take up their arms again. And the Muslim army, regardless of the state they were in, obeyed.
It was all that they needed to do – make the effort to prepare for battle. The rest, Allah SWT caused to happen. The massive army of disbelievers, who had gloated about their Uhud ‘victory’, fled the battle scene before the battle even began. Allah SWT had caused a rumour to reach them that struck such fear in their hearts, they fled. And the Muslims won this battle, known as the Battle of Hamra Al-Asad, without striking a single blow.
So, if you’re wondering why I’m starting the blogpost with lessons from the past, then I want you to know on 1 January 2022, those lessons became an important part of my present. It was a deed of mine that changed the events of that day. And continues to change my life, even to this day.
If you read further, I think you’ll see why.
A Morning Unlike Any Other
I was sitting on the couch that morning, reciting Qur’an, and waiting for the help of Allah SWT to arrive. Mentally, I had started preparing myself that I would be at home, still reciting, when the news that Yaseen had passed away came. I accepted that, because for me, that was a better alternative than having to witness losing him.
Mujeeb phoned, family members phoned, my best friend phoned. I refused to leave for the hospital. I sat like that for maybe around two hours, latching onto the Qur’an which had saved me so many times before.
I cried as I sat reading, while the phone calls and messages continued to come.
There were certain chapters that I kept on repeating. One of these chapters is titled ‘The Kingdom’ (Surah Mulk). I don’t know how many times I had read it that morning already, but suddenly this time as I read, a word in the second verse caught my attention. The word was ‘Al-Ghafoor‘, one of the names of Allah SWT.
Long before Yaseen was diagnosed with cancer, I had started learning the names of Allah SWT with its meanings, and ‘Al-Ghafoor’ happened to be the last name I had learnt. I thought I knew the meaning, but for some reason, I wanted to confirm that I was right. So, I got up from my seat, walked over and took out the book containing the names of Allah SWT, and double-checked the meaning. And then I walked back to my seat and sat down to read.
For lack of a better way of explaining it, I’m going to call that moment of me getting up to check the meaning of ‘Al-Ghafoor‘ as my ‘striking the staff’, or ‘shaking the tree’ moment. It was just the tiniest of deeds done in a moment of difficulty, for the sake of Allah SWT, and I wasn’t expecting anything from it.
But when I sat back down to recite again, I almost instantly realised that something was different. I felt a new strength inside of me, a strong sense of conviction.
Before, I had wondered how a test like losing Yaseen might affect my relationship with Allah SWT. In that moment, I knew with absolute certainty my answer.
I knew that my journey towards Allah SWT would continue, with His permission. Whether Yaseen was gifted with life or whether he passed away, my journey was towards Allah SWT, not away from Him. I told Allah SWT this, that I would not turn away from Him.
And something happened. It’s barely possible for me to explain it. If I had to describe it to myself, I would say it felt as if Allah SWT had instructed an angel to wrap its wings around me and protect me. I don’t know what had happened, but I know that Allah SWT had done something to strengthen my heart.
I know my strengths and my weaknesses, my typical behaviour when I’m in distress. This was not me, at least it was not only me. The strength I felt was beyond anything I inherently possessed. I was being uplifted by a power that most certainly was not my own.
The tranquility that descended into my heart was so immediate and so overpowering, it was unnatural. I can only conclude that what I had been waiting for had come – the help of Allah SWT had arrived.
As my heart felt more settled, I now felt like I had the strength to fulfil my duties as a mom. I completed reciting the surah, and then I phoned Mujeeb. I could hear Yaseen’s heavy breathing in the background.
I knew that I needed to be with Yaseen, so I phoned my friend and asked her to take me to the hospital.
When I got to the hospital, there were family members standing outside Yaseen’s room window. I didn’t linger to talk to them, I simply walked on into the hospital, wanting to reach Yaseen. I donned the BMTU clothing, and I stepped into my son’s room. Ready, as any mother ever could be, to bid farewell to her child.
We Come from Allah SWT, And to Him We Will return
As I walked into the hospital room, I could hear Yaseen’s breathing – it sounded heavy. And he wasn’t responsive.
I registered the people standing outside his room window. I registered Mujeeb in the room. But everyone was in the background. My mind, my focus, was Yaseen.
I was calm. I had gone from the mom who freaked out to see her son with a fever, to a mom who behaved so rationally when she was most likely going to lose him.
Hospital policy had required me to suit up with the protective clothing prior to entering Yaseen’s room, and one of the first things I did was remove my gloves. I wanted Yaseen to feel his mom’s touch. I greeted him. I touched his hand, his face, and I kissed his forehead. I could vaguely hear Mujeeb, I think he mentioned something about the gloves. I advised him that he should remove his gloves as well. Then I placed zamzam water on Yaseen’s lips, hands, feet, and his face, as I prayed.
Waseem arrived at the hospital, and through the mercy of Allah SWT, they allowed him into Yaseen’s room despite Covid protocols.
I started to play a chapter of the Qur’an from my phone, it was Surah Ar-Ra’ad (The Thunder). My brother-in-law, a religious scholar, had messaged me and advised that this surah be recited for Yaseen.
Yaseen’s response to the Qur’an recital was immediate. I noticed it clearly, Mujeeb and Waseem noticed it and even the people standing outside the room, who were able to hear his breathing, noticed it.
Yaseen’s breathing became absolutely calm. I say ‘absolutely’, as his breathing went from almost a wheeze to barely noticeable. For me, it was imperceptible. Yaseen became so silent, I had to check the monitor that displayed his vitals to make sure he was still breathing.
I kept on touching Yaseen and applying the zamzam water on him, and reciting. I felt like a mom doing the last little bit for her son, before this privilege was removed from me.
Mujeeb and Waseem, I think, were clinging on to hope that there would once again be a miracle, like we had experienced so many times before. I hoped for that miracle too, although my heart sensed that this was goodbye.
The time for the noon prayer arrived and I prayed in the entrance area attached to Yaseen’s room. I couldn’t leave, I didn’t want to leave, in case something important happened.
The people outside the window changed, some left and others came.
I sat next to Yaseen, as Surah Ar-R’ad played for the third time. Yaseen was breathing so softly, I kept on glancing at the monitor, checking his vitals. He was so tranquil. When the surah completed, I got up and began applying the zamzam on him, as I prayed.
The family looking in from outside could clearly see me in the room, doing what I was doing. But what they couldn’t see, and nor did we in the room see or sense, was the angel waiting to remove my son’s soul. I sensed nothing.
I stood by Yaseen’s head and placed a little of the zamzam onto his tongue with my finger, and I heard the monitor and looked up. As I watched, the readings on the screen fell and landed on zero.
I spoke, and the first words I said were the words Allah SWT placed on my tongue: ‘Inna Lillahi Wa Inna Ilaihi Raji’oon‘ (surely to Allah SWT we belong, and to Him we will return).
The words of Surah Ar’Ra’ad had just completed moments before, and Yaseen was presented with these words before breathing his last:
They will enter the Gardens of Eternity, along with their righteous ancestors, spouses, and descendants; and the angels will enter upon them from every gate, [saying], ‘Peace be upon you for what you patiently endured. And excellent is the final home’. (Verses 23-24)
– PART TWO –
Last Rites
Yaseeen’s funeral left from my parents’ home, this was by my dad’s request. Yaseen had never refused my dad anything, so we didn’t either.
I got to my parents’ home, and one of the first things I did was take hold of Yaseen’s Qur’an, the one he kept there, and I hugged it. I felt as though by physically holding onto the Qur’an, I was holding onto something that connected me with both Allah SWT and Yaseen. I clutched it to my chest, to my heart, to keep that feeling of my heart being shattered from overwhelming me.
Yaseen had written a note on the inside cover of the Qur’an:
“Yaseen Bray
Madrasatul Ihsaan
(then underneath it was scrawled)
Does this pen work,
No it doesn’t
It does not work”
These words in his handwriting, and the humorous irony of what was written (with the pen that ‘does not work’), I found it somewhat comforting. And I hugged the Qur’an as though I was hugging him.
Later that afternoon, I saw my son enter our family home for the last time. As his body was being washed and prepared by the male family members, I sat in the family room, greeting people and acknowledging their prayers and condolences.
And then the moment came. It was time for me to see my son and greet him for the last time.
I walked into my parents’ lounge and positioned myself next to where Yaseen laid, standing by his face. The Qur’an still in my hand, I just stared at Yaseen’s face, hardly ever taking my eyes off him.
When the recitation of prayers concluded, Yaseen’s body was lifted and left our home, and he was taken to the burial van. As the burial van drove away with my son, I walked behind it, trying to follow it. That was when I cried. How I cried.
“Verily the eyes shed tears and the heart grieves, and we are saddened over your departure, oh Ibrahim. But we will not say except that which is pleasing to our Lord” – the saying of Prophet Muhammad (SAW) on the loss of his son, Ibrahim.
And I tried to do the same. The tears could flow, and my heart could ache with such a burning, longing to hold my son again, but I could not say anything that would displease my Lord.
Lost. And Found.
I didn’t understand it that day, at least not fully, but the day I lost Yaseen, I lost a part of me too. The test that was given to me was meant to change me, and it did.
Allah SWT, through the loss of my child, has opened up a potential path to Jannah for me that never existed before. And He has made Jannah beloved to me, as a place for reuniting with those who I love.
This test of difficulty, and heartache, and pain, has also come with mercy. Through the greatest of losses, I have found the greatest of blessings. My reason, my motivation, for chasing Jannah.