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The Islamic Bulletin
Issue 21
A true story translated from Arabic.
Her cheeks were worn and sunken and her skin hugged
her bones. That didn’t stop her though, you could never
catch her not reciting Qur’an. Always vigil in her personal
prayer room Dad had set up for her. Bowing, prostrating,
raising her hands in prayer. That was the way she was from
dawn to sunset and back again.
As for me, I craved nothing more than fashion magazines
and novels. I treated myself all the time to videos until those
trips to the rental place became my trademark.
As they say, when something becomes habit people tend to
distinguish you by it. I was negligent in my responsibilities
and laziness characterized my Salah.
One night, I turned the video off after a marathon three
hours of watching. The adhan softly rose in that quiet night.
I slipped peacefully into my blanket.
Her voice carried from her prayer room. “Yes? Would you
like anything Noorah?” I said.
With a sharp needle she popped my plans. “Don’t sleep
before you pray Fajr!”
“Agh...there’s still an hour before Fajr, that was only the
first Adhan!”
With those loving pinches of hers, she called me closer.
She was always like that, even before the fierce sickness
shook her spirit and shut her in bed.
“Hanan can you come sit beside me?”
I could never refuse any of her requests, you could touch
the purity and sincerity. “Yes, Noorah?”
“Please sit here.”
“OK, I”m sitting. What’s on your mind?”
With the sweetest mono voice she began reciting:
“Every
soul shall taste death and you will merely be repaid your
earnings on Resurrection Day.” (Quran 3:185)
She stopped thoughtfully. Then she asked, “Do you believe
in death?”
“Of course I do.”
“Do you believe that you shall be responsible for whatever
you do, regardless of how small or large?”
“I do, but Allah is Forgiving and Merciful and I’ve got a
long life waiting for me.”
“Stop it Hanan ... aren’t you afraid of death and it’s abrupt-
ness? Look at Hind. She was younger than you but she died
in a car accident. So did so and so, and so and so. Death
is age-blind and your age could never be a measure of
when you shall die.”
The darkness of the room filled my skin with fear. “I’m
scared of the dark and now you made me scared of death,
how am I supposed to go to sleep now. Noorah, I thought
you promised you’d go with us on vacation during the
summer break.”
Impact. Her voice broke and her heart quivered. “I might
be going on a long trip this year Hanan, but somewhere
else. Just maybe. All of our lives are in Allah’s hands and
we all belong to Him.”
My eyes welled and the tears slipped down both cheeks.
I pondered my sisters’ grizzly sickness, how the doctors
had informed my father privately that there was not much
hope that Noorah was going to outlive the disease.
She wasn’t told though. Who hinted to her? Or was it that
she could sense the truth?
“What are you thinking about Hanan?” Her voice was
sharp. “Do you think I am just saying this because I am
sick? Uh - uh. In fact, I may live longer than people who
are not sick. And you Hanan, how long are you going to
live? Twenty years, maybe? Forty? Then what?”
Through the dark she reached for my hand and squeezed
gently.
“There’s no difference between us; we’re all
going to leave this world to live in Paradise or agonize
in Hell. Listen to the words of Allah: “Anyone who is
pushed away from the Fire and shown into Jannah will
have triumphed.”
(Quran 3:185)
I left my sister’s room dazed, her words ringing in my ears:
May Allah guide you Hanan - don’t forget your prayer.
Eight o’clock in the morning. Pounding on my door. I don’t
usually wake up at this time. Crying. Confusion. O Allah,
what happened?
Noorahs condition became critical after Fajr, they took her
immediately to the hospital ... Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi
raji’un.
There wasn’t going to be any trips this summer. It was
written that I would spend the summer at home.
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