“Yes. You can come and see her now.” Dad’s voice had changed, and mother could sense something had gone deathly wrong. We left immediately. Where was that avenue I used to travel and thought was so short? Why was it so very long now? Where was the cherished crowd and traffic that would give me a chance to gaze left and right? Everyone, just move out of our way! Mother was shaking her head in her hands crying as she made du’a for her Noorah. We arrived at the hospital’s main entrance. One man was moaning, while another was involved in an accident. A third man’s eyes were iced. You couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive. Noorah was in intensive care. We skipped stairs to her floor. The nurse approached us. “Let me take you to her.” As we walked down the aisles the nurse went on expressing how sweet of a girl Noorah was. She somewhat reassured Mother that Noorah’s condition had gotten better than what it was in the morning. “Sorry. No more than one visitor at a time,” the nurse said. This was the intensive care unit. Past the flurry white robes, through the small window in the door, I caught my sister’s eyes. Mother was standing beside her. After about two minutes, mother came out unable to control her crying. “You may enter and say salam to her on the condition that you do not speak too long,” they told me. “Two minutes should be enough.” “How are you Noorah? You were fine last night sister, what happened?” We held hands; she squeezed harmlessly. “Even now, alhamdulillah, I’m doing fine.” “Alhamdulillah…but…your hands are so cold.” I sat on her bedside and rested my fingers on her knee. She jerked it away. “Sorry, did I hurt you?“ “No, it is just that I remembered Allah’s words.” Waltafatul saaqu bil saaq (One leg will be wrapped to the other leg [in the death shroud]). “Hanan pray for me. I may be meeting the first day of the Hereafter very soon. It’s a long journey and I haven’t prepared enough good deeds in my suitcase.” A tear escaped my eye and ran down my cheek at her words. I cried and she joined me. The room blurred away and left us two sisters to cry together. Rivulets of tears splashed down on my sister’s palm, which I held with both hands. Dad was now becoming more worried about me. I’ve never cried like that before. At home and upstairs in my room, I watched the sun pass away with a sorrowful day. Silence mingled in our corridors. One after another, my cousins came in my room. The visitors were many and all the voices from downstairs stirred together. Only one thing was clear at that point –Noorah had died! I stopped distinguishing who came and who went. I couldn’t remember what they said. O Allah, where was I? What was going on? I couldn’t even cry anymore. Later that week they told me what had happened. Dad had taken my hand to say goodbye to my sister for the last time. I had kissed Noorah’s head. I remember only one thing while seeing her spread on that bed –the bed that she was going to die on. I remembered the verse she recited: One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud). And I knew too well the truth of the next verse: The drive on that day will be to your Lord (Allah)! I tiptoed into her prayer room that night. Staring at the quiet dressers and silenced mirrors, I treasured the person that had shared my mother’s stomach with me....Noorah was my twin sister. I remembered who I had swapped sorrows with, who comforted my rainy days. I remembered who prayed for my guidance and who spent so many tears for many long nights telling me about death and accountability. May Allah save us all. Tonight is Noorah’s first night that she shall spend in her tomb. O Allah, have mercy on her and illumine her grave. This was her Qur’an and her prayer mat. And this was the spring, rose-colored dress that she told me she would keep just for her husband. I remembered my sister and cried over all the days that I had lost. I prayed to Allah to have mercy on me, accept me and forgive me. I prayed to Allah to keep her firm in her grave as she always liked to mention in her supplications.At that moment, I stopped. I asked myself what if it was I who had died. Where would I be moving on to? Fear pressed me and the tears began all over again. “Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar…” The first adhan rose softly from the masjid. It sounded so beautiful this time. I felt calm and relaxed as I repeated the mu’adhin’s call. I wrapped the shawl around my shoulders and stood to pray Fajr. I prayed as if it was my last prayer, a farewell prayer, just like Noorah had done yesterday. It had been her last Fajr. Now, and in sha Allah for the rest of my life, if I awake in the morning I do not count on being alive by evening, and in the evening I do not count on being alive by morning. We are all going on Noorah’s journey. What have we prepared for it? [Muhammad Alshareef* Mohammad Alshareef translated the following story from the book “Azzaman Alqaadim” and gave it as his final speech at the MYNA East Zone conference. It is a very moving story which had the entire audience in tears] SubhanAllah such a powerful story and a reminder for us all
Posted on: Mon, 22 Sep 2014 04:21:10 +0000
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