It’s Been Three Years…

It’s Friday in October; you’re getting ready for classes. Your roommate is all dressed up. Just another Friday—an easy one with not much going on.

Normal things happen. You have your breakfast. There’s this uneasy feeling. You can’t tell if it’s your normal daily dose of anxiety or something else. It feels different.

A text message comes in. It’s an acquaintance, offering his condolences. He doesn’t specify who it is but you just know. You call your sister. She is crying, and you know. Your knees give out. No, this is not happening. Next thing you know, your roommate is lifting you off the floor. You brain has completely shut down. You can’t think. You can’t process. This must all be some sick prank.

People often ask me why I’m the way I am today. People who have only just met me have no idea what I’ve been through. People who know me think they do. I have written so many pieces about how your death has affected me. So many pieces that have never seen the light of the day. So many pieces I haven’t had the chance to complete. How do I finish writing about my dead brother? How do I refer to you in the past numerous times? How?

I have written about the day you died before. How a high school acquaintance texted me saying “Allah ya jikan brother dinki.” How he did not specify but I had a gut feeling. I can’t explain it but I knew. I knew that brother in question was you.

Before then, I used to think that one of our parents would die first. I would think about it often and cry in tahajjud. I would think about it and re-strategize. What would life be like without them? How would I cope? What would I do? I’d sit for hours and come up with a plan, numerous plans even. I knew Allah would give me the strength to bear that loss, their loss.

Imagine my shock when I found out that all of that wouldn’t hold. Imagine my shock when I found out that my immediate brother, as Allah would have it, would be the first to go. Imagine having to fully come to terms with the fact that any of us could be next. Death doesn’t discriminate. It does not come for a certain age group, a certain class of people, it isn’t even restricted to the sick; it simply comes unannounced and it has been guaranteed for all of us, all of humanity.

“Every soul will taste death”

Quran 3:185

That day changed my life forever. I had so many thoughts to process. How did you feel in your last few minutes? What really happened? How do I tell my kids this story? How?

I’ve dealt with every emotion under the sun since then; multiple times. Emotions that come and go as they wish. Emotions that will sneak up on you out of nowhere. One minute I’m celebrating a win, business or otherwise, and the next I’m balling my eyes out because all I want is to share that win with you. All I want is to hear you say you’re proud of me.

A part of me died that day. My heart shattered. My heart ached and felt pain like never before. My mind hurt going through all the whys, what-ifs (which were all a part of the grieving process and I’ve realized are bad for us, as Muslims), the internal screams, the feeling of loss and hopelessness. I didn’t know what to do. It was in the middle of the semester. I couldn’t go back home. I grieved alone. Never got to see your corpse. Never got to fully come to terms with it. Never got to say goodbye, but Alhamdulillah. Alhamdulillah, always.

After all those feelings of loss and hopelessness, grief and despair came one thing; gratitude. Allah; Al ‘Aleem and Al Hakeem, alone knows why everything happened the way it did. Would you believe that the night after you passed, I fell down in sujud ash-shukr? I thanked Allah while simultaneously crying my eyes out. I couldn’t think of a better death for you. I really couldn’t. It didn’t matter how I felt at that moment, at the end of the day; the akhirah mattered (still matters) far more than the dunya, always.

How have I changed since then? My light has most definitely diminished but that hasn’t stopped me from becoming more expressive. I have learnt to intentionally give people their flowers before they die. I have learnt time management. I have learnt to always make time for anything that I could possibly be rewarded for. Seek knowledge. Complete my hifdh. Read more books. Become more versatile in various fields. Give charity. Obey our parents. Uphold ties of kinship. Teach others. Provide sources that they could benefit from. Learn to fully cover up. Among many others.

Some people say I think and speak about death very often. I don’t see it as a bad thing. It keeps me in check. I often ask myself questions like; ‘is this the outfit I’d want to die in,’ ‘is this an act I’d want to die doing,’ ‘is this a place I’d want to die in,’ and it’s all because of you. Well maybe not you, your death. May Allah enable us to do and be better.

This is still quite vague but at least it’s something. I love you, have loved you and will never stop loving you, In Sha Allah. Not a day goes by that I don’t pray for you. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you. I have never once questioned Allah’s decree, (well maybe for a split second at the peak of grief), but other than that, I know He is Al Wakeel and I trust Him. I trust Him with every bone in my body. Alhamdulillah for all that has happened and all that is yet to come.

May Allah forgive you and grant you Jannah. May Allah continue giving us the strength to bear this loss.