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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, Al-
hamdulillah, 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, ac-
cept 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 eve-
ning, and in the evening I do not count on being alive
by morning.
We are all going on Noorah’s journey. What have we pre-
pared for it?