Becoming ReMuslimed

I, Alhamdulillah, have always been Muslim. Prayer. Fasting. Covered. The whole nine yards. But it wasn’t until that one fateful day on September 1st, 2011 that I really identified with my deen. Rube had just undergone a 5-hour robotic surgery and the surgeon had discovered that his cancer had hit Stage 4 in a matter of a few weeks. I remember Dr. Belizan telling me that he had removed all of the tumor that was visible to him but it was very likely that the cancer would be back.

And so I cried. Cried till I couldn’t cry anymore. It felt like someone had taken away all hope of Rube ever being okay. But then, my mother-in-law told me I needed to be strong for her son and not let him see me cry-that he depended on my strength. And so I went to Rube, told him I was done with crying and being sad and that I was going to just keep on praying.
That day, I placed my forehead on the floor and for the first time, felt myself drowing with duaas. My heart felt lighter and my soul felt free. I begged Allah to make things easier and to do what was best for all of us, especially Rube.

The next 7 months were the hardest times of our lives. We would all fall asleep thinking of Rube and wake up thinking of Rube. I woke up many mornings, hoping he hadn’t passed away without me by his side.

But subhanallah, my duaas for ease and the best for us ultimately came through. Especially for him. After two years of fighting, he finally won and drifted into a peaceful sleep. The day he passed, his dad said: “Tonight, I can sleep in peace because my son can finally sleep.”

As for me, I am still waiting on “the best” to happen. Although, some of it may have already happened. I don’t question things and why they happened. Rather, I trust Allah and know from the bottom of my soul that He did what was best for me. And that is why I have become ReMuslimed. And that is the best thing to ever happen to me.

Because being Muslim is not just about praying and fasting but also about trusting The Creator and leaving things out of our control in His trusting hands. It’s about loving Him and through that Love, loving everything else.

Dear God, I trust you. And I pray that meeting you will be the Best thing to happen out of everything else in this world.

What takes me back

I have my moments of sadness here and there. For the most part, I am content with my situation, alhamdulillah. But I do have mere moments where something or someone triggers a memory and I freeze in time to relinquish it and in some cases, daydream of what might have been. But I have come to accept these triggers as a sign of coping-because I am allowing myself to feel for the moment and thus, allowing myself to mourn the loss of the specific moment.

These triggers really takes me back to my life with him and I come out of them, with a gaze in my eyes, because I completely forget he’s not with us anymore.

Triggers like flamingos. And Cheeto Puffs. And dressing up. Dunkin Donuts. Hospitals.

Shaykh Omar Suleiman. (Subhanallah, the resemblance is uncanny). Zain Bhikha’s “The Wedding Song”. (I cry everytime and my heart always skips beats because I can still see him, walking into the reception hall and towards me.) Pictures of his friends on Facebook. Tall men. Certain smells.

And the triggers go on. Honestly, I don’t mind them. I’ve learned to accept them as a chance of feeling him again. His clothes are in my drawers and I am wearing his shirt as I write.

And seeing our daughter’s face next to me in the middle of the night–sometimes, I confuse the two. And that is my biggest trigger, alhamdulillah.

You think you have it all figured out…

…but then, one day, you wake up and find out that life has thrown you such a fast curveball that you are left breathless.
And so you have nothing left to do but struggle and breathe. And move along with the plans that have been created specifically for you.
And you find yourself craving the ease that someone else has. But don’t crave too hard because they keep their struggles to themselves.
And there is always someone who has it harder. So be thankful for what you have and don’t worry about what you don’t. Because what isn’t yours was never meant to be.

And remember, it’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to talk to people about what you are going through and not keep things bottled up. And it is more than okay to talk to God. After all, He’s the One that is putting you through these tests, so that you can become a better person. And honestly, He’s the One that can help.

Dear God,
Thank you for everything-all the ease and all the hardships. I am a better person because of it. Thank you for not making things harder than what I can handle. Thank you for choosing me.

What dreams may come

We had dreams. Some far-fetched. Some realistic. But we had dreams. Of vacations. And honeymoons. Of a house full of kids. Of a new car.Of Hajj. Of traveling. Of moving. Of advanced degrees. Of growing old together. Of taking care of our parents, in all aspects.

And then we had more dreams. Of a normal life. Of a healthy life. Of vacationing with our daughter. Of a wonderful life for her.

And then, as things neared an end, the biggest dream came into play. Of Jannah. Of a peaceful passing. Of ease.

Our dreams are now mine. Some I’ve accomplished. Some I am working on. And as our dreams become a reality, I remember him and feel him. And pray that our ultimate dream becomes our ultimate reality.

It goes to show you that you can plan and you can dream. And you can think things are just about to go your way. And Allah (swt) pulls you back and says: “Hey, wait a minute. I’ve got bigger plans. Slow down and see where I lead you.” His plans are the Best of plans.

Rube and I thought that things were finally about to go our way. A fabulous new job. Close to college graduation. Pregnant. Life couldn’t be any sweeter.

And then came that pull that woke us up, especially me. Our dreams were put on hold and for a few years, we put things off till things “got better.” That “better” never came. At least, not our version of it.

Allah (swt) had better plans for Rube. And he has better plans for me, for which I eagerly wait.

Ya Allah, help me from trying to run ahead and allow me to always be content in running with You.

His final days

It’s been a year since he passed and I think I am finally ready to blog about his last moments, thanks to the generous support of a friend/sister. These moments are recollections of his last moments with his mom and myself, but not always simultaneously. (As you read this, please say a prayer of ease for her and the rest of his wonderful family.)

A few days before his death, he had a dream that the entire community was praying for him. A day or so after the dream, he fell into a semiconscious state of awareness.

While in the coma-like state, we noticed that Rube kept moving his fingers and after studying his hand,we realized that he was making tasbeeh. Several times, we noticed he raised his hands to his ears and rested it on his chest. Even in his last moments, he attempted to pray.

He was taken into the ICU the day before he died. That night, he asked people to move his bed so that it faced a certain angle. At the moment, his mom didn’t realize the reasoning behind his request but as she settled down to pray her night prayers, she figured out that Rube wanted his bed facing the Qiblah.

Rube was quite bothered by his confusion due to the toxin build-up in his body but whenever I mentioned something about Islam, he smiled and relaxed. A few hours before he passed away, I whispered in his ears and asked him if he knew Allah (swt) loved him. He smiled and nodded.

Throughout his last day, every one recited the shahadah. At points, I asked him to recite it back to me. And he just uttered whatever he could and I noticed that his lips would say it, even if no noise came out.

And literally, just five minutes before he passed, everyone left the room and it was just his mom and I by his side. His heart rate dropped to 40 in a matter of seconds and his mom said the pain left his face and a peaceful glow overtook him.

And as the angels of death took his soul, he smiled a sweet and barely noticeable smile. But I know he smiled, because I searched for it. And then, that was it. He was gone, leaving us with nothing and everything.

I kissed his hand and walked away in peace, knowing that for the first time in two years, he would finally sleep a restful sleep. And that meant the rest of us could be in peace too.

Later on, I told his mom that she was there during the birth of my child and I was there for the death of hers. It’s quite beautiful how some of life’s most precious moments turn out.

One year

I’ve been dreading this day for awhile-the one year mark. But today came and went and I am fine, alhamdulillah. It’s another day without him but with the way I see it, it’s a day closer to seeing him again, I pray.

It has been a year of struggles and triumph. One of tears and smiles. One of sadness and happiness. But there’s been more good to this year than bad. More blessings than hardships-because hardships are just blessings in disguise.

Today, I stand a different woman. A stronger woman. A more positive woman. I have overcome obstacles I never thought possible and the air I breathe is more peaceful and filled with the fragrance of blessings.

With every hardship, there is ease. Finding the light amongst darkness is like finding a diamond in the rough. The positives glimmer like the flicker of a candle in the midst of a forest.

Today, I remember him as he was before he got sick. I remember us before things became complicated. Today, I remember to smile instead of cry. Just like I told him before he died, I’ll join him later. InshAllah.

In loving memory of my beloved. May he rest in eternal peace.

The picture is of us, sitting at the terminal in Houston, waiting to go to New York for our Waleema (wedding reception).

Single Parenthood

I am, by definition, a single mother. And I have a lot of support, especially from our families, alhamdulillah. Rube’s family is still considered mine and they always will be. I have their love and prayers. I live with my own family and my daughter is absolutely crazy about them and waits eagerly for them to come home. Safi and I have the sweetest friends.

What I don’t have is the emotional support that I need and can only get from a supportive spouse. But alhamdulillah, this experience is making me stronger, more dependent on myself and independent. It feels weird making decisions on my own but it is a good feeling.

But by definition, I am a single mother. And to all single mothers (and fathers), I feel you. I hear you. I empathize with you. May you all find a supportive and loving spouse. 

The meet.

He walked towards her, with long strides and a smile that a husband has for only his wife. Finally, as they met at the steps of the mosque, they realized that they were husband and wife. The cameras flashed and she stood next to him, engulfed by the scent of his ‘atr. It was a striking combination, him tall and dressed in white while she stood small, dressed in blue. That moment defined them-defined her.
Years later, she walked towards him, engulfed by feelings of anxiety. His body waited but his soul had already left. She approached him with caution, praying she wouldn’t cry. Her fingers traced his face, memorizing the details because it would be the last time. And as tears poured out of her soul, she reached in her purse for his ‘atr, the same scent he wore their wedding day. His trademark. She put it on him, for the last time. She kissed him goodbye and walked away. They went their seperate ways, her soul heavy with sorrow…
A year later and that ‘atr sits in her bathroom shelf, standing as if he never left.

One day, they’ll be reunited. One day, in sha Allah.
via PicsArt Photo Studio

It’s not his passing…

…but the events that led up to it that’s hardest to get over. People tell me they understand it’s hard and I appreciate their sympathy. But trust me, they don’t get it. There are scars embedded so deep in my soul that my body physically hurts to think about it. It’s scars of regret–of not being able to do more  doing more.
I had to tell him that I wanted him to come home but wouldn’t be able to take care of him. I had to tell him that he had to stay at the place he dreaded the most–the hospital. He used to beg me not to take him to the E.R. But that sweet soulmate of mine died there. I had to tell him that I wished I could give him my kidney to stop his from failing but it meant not being able to take care of him and our daughter. (He never asked for it though.)
I had to ask the nurses to stick that NG tube back into his nose because the cancers prevented him from digesting. The tone in his voice as he told me that having NG tubes put in is not as easy as it looks…oh, how I wish I had the heart to stay in the room and squeeze his hand while the nurses did the procedure. He never asked and I was too weak to be there for him.
Rube threw up countless times and I never stood by his side because of my bizarre phobia towards vomit. And he was in so much pain that he needed pain killers every 3 hours for almost a year of his life. Percocet is a nasty word. But there were times I teased him for it…because I didn’t understand.
And there are so many more examples but my stomach is in enough knots.
To those of you who tell me I’m strong and was a great wife…you’re all fazed by this facade of mine. Because beneath it all, I am weak. And I made a lot of mistakes in my marriage. So take my weaknesses and improve yours before it is too late. It takes more than a heart to love somebody.

It is our weaknesses that make us stronger. And I am working on becoming strong.
*A special thanks to my friend who told me she was NOT going to tell me I was a great wife. Because of that, I am trying to work on self-improvement. There is always room to improve yourself*

Support System

I kept things regarding my husband and his health to myself for the most part. It wasn’t until the very end of his life (less than a week before his passing) that I let the world know that he was in need of prayers. And even then, I was pretty vague about it. “Oh, he’s in the hospital. Just make dua’a.”

But there were a lot of people that found out and offered their shoulder and lent their ears. But I didn’t feel like sharing, mainly because I felt that the things going on in my mind and in my life weren’t things that anyone could just understand and empathize with. Sympathy is easy but empathy takes experience. However, I did share the difficulties that came along with having a progressively deteriorating husband. And there was one friend that I shared with the hardest parts of watching Rube slowly approach the end of his life. I shared with her because I knew she could understand–after all, her mother-in-law suffered in similar ways and my friend suffered in silence.

However, now, almost a year later, I realize that having an anonymous support system of people going through similar things would have helped. In essence, these anonymous people would have ideally told me things that I needed to hear and not just wanted to hear. Although I am not going through what I went through a year ago, I know that there is a strong support system out there to help others going through similar things–either as victims or loved ones. Because I found an up-and-coming group that is taking the steps to help the Muslim ummah cope. It is a concept that I haven’t heard about before and I pray this becomes a global success. Check out Healing Deen to see what I mean.