Hushed Confessions | ✔

{14} A Dash of Family

Sajdaa Taha

I felt my shoulders shake. "Sajdaa, wake up," a small voice whispered.

I groaned and pushed Hamza's hands away.

"Sajdaa," he pressed. "Come on."

I opened my eyes groggily. I came face to face with the disheveled appearance of my little brother. His black hair was sticking up all over the place. There were dark bags under his eyes. His lips were pressed in a thin line. I knew Hamza was stressed beyond belief. I mean, our uncle was dead and our eldest brother was currently on a hospital bed trying to live. That's a lot to take in for a little kid.

I slowly sat up. Hamza was sitting on the opposite end of the hospital couch. My neck felt cramped. Guess hospital couches weren't meant for good sleep, I dryly thought. I looked around the room.

Mom was sitting on a chair, resting her head on the bed Ridwan laid on. Her hands tightly grasped my brother's hand even in her sleep. On the other hand, Dad was sleeping on a chair against the wall. It was in front of Ridwan's bed. I cringed as I imagined how much their joints would ache when they woke up.

"What time is it?" I asked Hamza in a hushed whisper.

The sky outside was still dark. Even the animals seemed to have been sleeping. Only the soft typing of computers could be heard from the halls. In other rooms, people silently wept for their loved ones, hoping that a miracle would come. The harsh reality of life definitely hit hard.

"Around four in the morning," he shrugged.

I only nodded as I stood up. I quietly walked towards the edge of Ridwan's bed, hearing his slow breaths. His chest rose as he inhaled the oxygen from the mask. Then it fell back down. Ridwan's usually golden tanned face was very pale. It was as if all the color was drained from his face. There were cuts across his face. My heart lurched from thinking about the pain he endured. The white hospital gown didn't suit him.

He should be throwing his head back laughing at my sarcasm. He should be playing football with Hamza and leading prayer as we all prayed behind him. He should be out there, enjoying his life, yet he wasn't.

Normal kids didn't have to deal with a serial killer. Normal kids didn't have to wait by a hospital bed and dying of guilt on the inside. I wasn't normal. I was always different and I had accepted that long ago, but just this once, I wanted to believe I was normal. I wanted to feel normal again.

My brother was my rock. He was always strong. It didn't matter what happened, my brother would always hold his strength. He never showed weakness even if the world was weeping around him. He was our support. His trust in Allah always inspired me. It was the reason for his bravery. I smiled at the thought.

"Our older brother was great," I murmured softly into the silence.

I felt Hamza's fingers slip into my hands. I grasped onto it tightly, scared of letting go. Hamza's eyes scanned over Ridwan's face. He squeezed them shut as if willing his tears to stay down. His breathing was shaky as he let out a breath, leaning against me.

"Our brother is great, Sajdaa. He's not gone yet."

I turned to Hamza, surprised.

He gave me a tight smile, "Sabr (patience), remember? Good things come to those who have patience."

He was right. It was only a week ago when Ridwan and I told Hamza about the importance of patience. Who would have thought that the small Islamic lesson we told him would be so relevant right now? Allah really did work His miracles when we least expected it.