Page 6 Issue 21 After an eternity. It was one o’clock in the afternoon. Mother phoned the hospital. “Yes. You can come and see her now.” Dad’s voice had changed, 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 long now, so very long. 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 dua’a for her Noorah. We arrived at the hospitals main entrance. One man was moaning, another was involved in an accident and a third’s eyes were iced, you couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead. We skipped stairs to Noorahs floor. She was in intensive care. The nurse approached us. “Let me take you to her.” As we walked down the aisles the nurse went on expressing how sweet a girl Noorah was. She reassured Mother somewhat that Noorah’s condition had gotten better than what it was in the morning. “Sorry. No more than one visitor at a time.” This was the intensive care unit. Through the small window in the door and past the flurry of white robes I caught my sisters eyes. Mother was standing beside her. After two minutes, mother came out unable to control her crying. “You may enter and say Salam to her on 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]) (Quran 75:29) .” “Hanan pray for me. I may be meeting the first day of the hearafter very soon. It is 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. At home and upstairs in my room, I watched the sun pass away with a sorrowful day. Silence mingled in our corridors. A cousin came in my room, another. 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 though, 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 we be to your Lord (Allah)!” (Quran 75:29-30) I tiptoed into her prayer room that night. Staring at the quiet dressers and silenced mirrors, I treasured who it was that had shared my mother’s stomach with me. Noorah was my twin sister. I remembered who I had swapped sorrows with. Who had comforted my rainy days. I remembered who had prayed for my guidance and who had spent so many tears for so 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, her prayer mat and this was the spring rose-colored dress that she told me she would hide until she got married, the dress she wanted to 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, how beautiful it sounded this time. I felt calm and relaxed as I repeated the Muadhdhins 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 insha’ Allah for the rest of my life, if I awake in the mornings 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?
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