Hushed Confessions | ✔

{1} Lost in Grief

Sajdaa Taha

I had been to many funerals in my life. I had seen distress. I had witnessed people dying right in front of me. I had helped people cope with the death of a beloved, but never did I expect it to happen to me.

I was very familiar with death, yet this time it felt like a stranger at my doorstep. It felt as if I lost a piece of my heart. Memories that flooded my mind with happiness seemed to drown. I couldn't understand this feeling of helplessness. I've seen people die, but this emotion was so foreign to me.

Everyday in weekend school I'd listen closely to the lectures about life and death. We were all created to die. No one would live forever. It was not biologically possible. I was always warned that death was sudden.

I was warned to make every day of my life count because I would never know when my end would come. I was told to cherish those close to me because I would never know when it would be the last time I saw them. I was given so many warnings, so many signs and still I subconsciously ignored each one. Regrets weighed heavily on my heart as I began to think about that fateful day.

It was three days after the New Year celebrations. My family and I had traveled to New York. The weekend was filled with laughter and elation. We came home tired and exhausted, however no one knew what was yet to come.

Beep Beep.

My alarm buzzed. I groggily opened my eyes. I squinted at my bedside clock. It was almost ten am. Damn, I thought. I was late to school with no ride. I face palmed. How am I going to explain to my teachers that I missed school because I slept in?

I shrugged the thought away. I would just say I was ill. That usually is a justifiable excuse for missing school. I pulled my covers off.

Immediately, the cold air hit me like a bucket of ice fell over me. I shivered and I looked around for something that would bring me warmth. In the corner of my vision I saw my brown hoodie. I quickly slipped it on. Then I did my regular morning routine, which consisted of brushing my teeth and washing my face. Nothing was out of the ordinary.

As I walked out of the bathroom, I saw Mom sitting on the couch with stress lines etched across her forehead. She rubbed at her temple in pain. Mom was more stressed out than usual this week. There was a phone pressed to her ear, and she talked softly.

She was probably talking to her sisters in Bangladesh. Mom's younger sisters always kept her up to date about what was going on. Still, Mom looked more disturbed than usual. I had wondered what happened to cause her such stress. Mom saw me and put her hand over the speaker.

"Pray for your uncle after you eat, he's still ill," she said as she winced at the memory.

Mom had two younger sisters and one younger brother. When she got married to Dad, my uncle was six years old. Mom basically raised my uncle as if he was her own son. My uncle was a great man. He treated me and my brother like we were his own kids.

He protected me from unwanted eyes. He took me places on his motorcycle and bought me more gifts than a princess could have. Maybe that was an exaggeration, but he did treat me like I was royalty. He had a nickname for me, 'little bird' in Bangla. I reminded him of a bird chirping because I talked too much as a child.

Mom got up to pray with my grandma, while I went to go make breakfast. I switched on the stove and watched as small, blue flames sparked underneath the steel, metal pan. The flames reminded me of the red flames of hell, and I was instantly reminded of a lecture from weekend school.

After a soul dies, the time in the grave will depend on whether they go to Jannah (heaven) or Jahannam (hell). If the soul goes to Jannah, then the time in the grave will be more blissful and spacious than anything in this world. However, if the soul was evil, then the time in the grave will be so painful and uncomfortable that their ribs will be squished into each other.