inna lillah wa inna 'ilayhi raji'un Monday, April 27, 2009 |
To Allah we belong and to Him we shall return
25/04/2009. I was walking upper Queen Street when I got a txt from my sister:
“don’t panic, papa in ICU right now. Routine check-up. Please perform hajat prayer for his wellbeing”
I knew right then and there, something is not gonna be right. I’m not a person to see things in a negative light, but I’m more of a “hope for the best, prepared for the worst” kinda person. Still abit shaky from the txt I got from my sister, I decided to take a breather at Borders.
It was 30 minutes later that I got a phone call from my brother. I look at his name and phone number flashing on my phone screen. I swear to God, I do not want to answer that phone call. My brother never calls me and somehow, this one got my worst nightmare written all over it. I answered anyway...
“Ari, papa dah takde. Ari sabar eh” (“Ari, papa is no longer with us. I hope you remain calm.”)
He hung up. His shaky voice still echoing in my head. It happened again. My worst nightmare happened again. The fear of losing the people I love. A part of me wanted to accept the fact that my father is no longer with us and the other half just wants to be in denial. My emotions are mixed. I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream, I wanted to wail, yet I just sit there, motionless. I just don’t know what to do.
My phone is ringing again. It was my mother.
“Ari, papa is not with us anymore. I want you to remain calm. This will happen to all of us, and our life on earth in on loan. We have to remember that one day, Allah will take us as well.”
Steady and concise. She sounded as if nothing happened. But deep down inside, only she knew.
My emotions still mixed, I started walking again. I walked to the bus stop, hop on a bus, and ride it home. Another phone call, and this time, it was my sister. She was crying.
“Ari, have you heard?”
“Yeah....”
“ Oh ok, did someone informed Kak Myra?”
“Yeah, mama called her....”
All three phone calls and the only words that manage to come out of my mouth are “yeah” and “ok”. I can’t even make a proper sentence. I just want to get home as soon as possible.
I got home, jump into the shower, take a quick bath and went upstairs to do my prayers. It was right after Isya’ prayer, sitting on my bed still trying to digest what had happened, that I decided to accept the fact that I will never see my father again.
And a slight feeling of guilt started to creep in. I felt guilty I never bothered to ask him how’s he doing. I felt guilty that I may have not been a good son. I felt guilty for all the pain I may have caused all these years. I felt guilty that I’m 6000 miles away. I felt guilty that I was not able to be next to him when he left us forever.
Now he’s gone, and everything changes. He will not be here for Ramadhan. He will not be here to celebrate Eid. He will not be here to look after his sick patients. He will not be here to see all his grandchildren grow up. He will not be here to see me get married.
He will not be here.
Al-Fatihah
