My Dear Daughter and Other Stories

Refuge

May 2008

"Nooooooooooo!"

She screamed on seeing his lifeless body. It was not real, it couldn't be real. Her husband couldn't be dead. He had just gone to the Bin Saleh Masjid for the Jumua prayer. He couldn't be brought back covered in blood- he had only been to the masjid. Why would anyone want to shoot someone from the house of Allah?

She felt dizzy at the unbelievable sight. There were loud wailings and hushed conversations all around her but she wasn't paying heed. "Bombing", "aimed at the Imam", "army officers"- words buzzed around her, hardly making any sense. She couldn't understand how her husband got killed on the one Friday that she hadn't joined him for the prayer because of her nausea.

Nausea. She had been fainting and retching all the time this past week. She couldn't swallow a single morsel of food without it all coming back at once. It was sickening. She had never thought that carrying a baby would be this difficult.

At the thought of the baby, the reality of her situation struck her hard and her walls of resistance crumbled. She heard someone say, "He was killed while in prayer. May Allah grant him Jannah," while patting her back.It only made her sob harder. Yasser always wanted to be a shaheed, a martyr. He was appalled by the lethargy of the Ummah- in his words, "How can we expect to enter the same Jannah as the prophets and their companions when they endured so much and we live in comfort?" He was always helping out people, immersed in charity or da'wah in his free time. He wanted to make his stay on earth fruitful. Is his soul at peace, as he got to die while in prayer and that too on a Friday? Will I be able to bear this pain? How on earth will I bring up our child without his-

"Come, Warda, it's time for the funeral prayer. Come on, habeebti..." Someone interrupted her thoughts. She was helped to her feet and taken to the room where the body was kept. Her knees buckled at the sight of her beloved's lifeless form. Who had bathed him? He wanted me to do it. I have promisedhim I would do it. Ya Allah, please forgive me for failing to keep my word. Habeebi, forgive me for not fulfilling this final promise. She broke down again.

"Warda, honey, we cannot delay the prayer any longer. Hold on, habeebti, have sabr..." It was her mother. She stood up somehow and leaned on her mother for support. She had to do it. She couldn't miss her husband's funeral prayer. She took a deep breath and composed herself.

She only broke down when she reached the part of the dua that said "exchange his spouse for a better spouse"- not that she didn't believe in Allah's wisdom. It was just that she had always prayed to be united with her husband in Jannah as well.

* * *

Warda was beyond consoling. She grieved and grieved for the loss of her husband, she wept for her baby who was orphaned before birth. She wondered why Allah had tested her so- Why did you take him, oh Allah? Why deprive my child of its father? How can I bear it, how can I live without Yasser? She cried till her eyes dried up. She had no appetite, no desire to live. It was only her mother's reminder that she needed to eat for the sake of her child that made her have something. And gradually, she grew stronger, for Allah does not burden anyone beyond their capacity. But it was not that she forgot, only that she accepted it as part of her fate. She would still think of him, yearn for his warm embrace... She knew that theirs was not the ideal marriage or anything- they had their differences and petty fights, they had their share of joys and sorrows but while he lived, he had been hers, hers alone to love and cherish, in spite of all the differences.

* * *

February 2015

"No."

"Please, Mama," Ammar whined.