Courtesy: Gerard Van Den Berg(shutterstock), theconversation.com (2017)

It’s been 2 years, and I honestly cannot believe that we’re here. In one piece, mostly. There’s not a day that passes of course without thinking of him, and I have consciously made it a point to not ever forget. Everything, including my black scarf drenched in his musk – of course I didn’t have it washed for days! Errr weeks? Okay, it was months – I take my weird seriously. And even then, if I close my eyes and breathe deeply, the smell of it engulfs me.  And my regret is that they didn’t allow me enough time, and space, to give him enough kisses. But there will never be enough kisses for my father.

One of the most interesting things about losing a loved one is that in its immediate aftermath, everything that you once thought was important quickly loses meaning. And the impermanence of everything around you, including you, comes into sharp focus. And you gain a deeper understanding and appreciation of Allah’s immense power and mercy. That He could take, in an instant, someone you’ve lived your whole life seeing around you. And even after this most brutal of reminders, He still allows us to run around like heedless children, creating mischief, hurting people and amassing wealth, without consequence. That He gives us the opportunity, time and time again, to come back. And I honestly cannot fathom the breadth of benevolence required for that. That He created me, and I belong to him, but He still allows me this much latitude to make mistakes only to run back to Him. Again. And again. And again. I’m stupefied.

It’s not simply the fact that the life of this world is transient, it’s that trouble and grief seems to be its by line. It’s always one day I’m laughing, and the next I’m in deep despair. And it takes immense faith, which I lack, to understand that this is how my Lord has decreed it, a place of trials and tests to sift through the best amongst us, a bridge to the Hereafter. That even the best of creations, the Prophets, tasted grief. And calamities upon calamities. What makes me think that I’d be spared?

Sabr, iman and taqwa, I need this in spades. To think good of my creator, the Lord of the Worlds, to trust in His decree, to delegate all my affairs to him and to always turn to Him when faced with trials. To rely on Him with utmost conviction. To hold Him above all others in my heart. And to detach myself from this world which is a mirage.

But I have been extremely fortunate. My Lord has provided me comfort upon comfort. “So do not lose heart, and do not fall into despair; for you must gain mastery if you are true in faith” (Quran 3:139). We will surely test you with a measure of fear and hunger and a loss of wealth, lives, and fruits;  but give glad tidings to As‑Saabiroon (the patient ones). Who, when afflicted with calamity, say: ‘Truly, to Allah we belong and truly, to Him we shall return.’ They are those on whom are the Salawaat (i.e. who are blessed and will be forgiven) from their Lord, and (they are those who) receive His Mercy, and it is they who are the guided ones.” (Quran 2: 155-157) “How wonderful is the case of a believer; there is good for him in everything and this applies only to a believer. If prosperity attends him, he expresses gratitude to Allah and that is good for him; and if adversity befalls him, he endures it patiently and that is better for him.” (The Prophet, pbuh-Muslim)

I would be lying if I said that I never allowed despair to come into my heart. Of course it did, but I know that it has a prescribed duration. And it is in how we spin it that it then becomes bearable. Someone once told me that they grieved by trying to emulate their loved one’s spirit. And I thought this was genius. To be up before the break of dawn, to pray isha upon its adhan. To read Quran every day. Hajj or umrah every year, as long as I can afford it. Paying my bills on time. Staying away from debt, speaking your truth no matter whom, where, what. Informing people, kindly, once they’ve messed up. Forgiving wrongs done upon me. Taking care of my relatives. Staying away from that which does not benefit me.  Keeping good companions. Being on wudhu. And sadaqa, sadaqa, sadaqa.

It all sounds doable until you attempt it, and you recognize the purity of discipline  needed to sustain such a lifestyle. But I want to, desperately crave to do this, against my selfish baser nature. My Lord, please make it easy for me. Every minute, every day, year upon year.

As for my dearest, my Lord, I beg of you, please provide him with the most lavish of comforts. In the most peaceful of spaces. Indelible in my mind is our last conversation, his beautiful face, his eternal repose and a prayer for a reunion in the highest levels of al firdaus al’ala. How can it be 2 years then, when it still feels just like yesterday?