Hard Moment

Its hard to talk about the day that AlHaarith died. It feels like the world stopped for me at that time. Its the point where honestly all worldly desires meant nothing. 

I need to speak about that day but I cant speak about it in full but a sister commented(Jazak Allahu Khair) and she mentioned that she was crying reading my words. Wallahi I dont want anyone to cry but this is my pain and its as real as real can be.

The day that Haarith died…I cried in a way I never cried before…when I saw him on that bed..still…I cried and when I cried I let my tears run into his face…onto his eyes…his lips…his nose…I rubbed my tears into his hair…he had the curliest softest hair…just like my grandfather…i let all my tears roll onto his face and I said…This is for you My love…these are My tears…Ummi’s tears washing your face…This is My love…Ummi’s love washing over you. My son. My boy. My beautiful child…I cried and I said…these tears all belong to you.

And they did. They do. Even the ones that roll down my face right now as I type.

Looking back

I realise that Im made from different material than other people. I dont mean that Im better but just that Im different. 

My son was born 14 years ago in London. I was so in love with him. He was my first. I remember crying looking at him and  just absorbing every minute I had with him. When he was about 6 months old there was a convention in Leicester…that was back when JIMAS in LOndon was the place to be for the salafees. We knew that they were on it the way that we thought we were.

I was married then but I hadnt seen my husband for a few months. I knew he was due back to the UK but I didnt know when. WHen I got to the conference ,,I was told that he was there. I guess he had flown in and went straight to Birmingham where his 4th wife lived. The first time he saw his son after those months was me basically walking up to him, angrily. and pushing our son into his hand. The wife(whom I had never met) stood by. I remember feeling so humiliated because he hadnt come to Londont first to see his son. Well this was back in the days of no cell phones and what had happened was he had called me first…but I wasnt home…I was at the conference so he had hitched a ride and got there from London.

You know its funny back then at 22 I was so hot with rage. I thought he did it on purpose but in retrospective…I wasnt always easy. That was the first time I saw his sons. He had brought them with him from Sudan and they looked sick. I never forget their eyes looked yellow, He had gotten malaria in Sudan while he was there with his 1st wife but it was clear that the boys were still ill.

He eventually came back to London and I took his oldest son to the local casualty..where they immediatly hospitalized him. I never forget that. Going back to my home in Croydon and having to tell him that his son was in the hospital. That was the first time that he had looked after Al-Haarith. I came home to find jars of baby food open..the curtains all in disaray. The house in a mess, I ran up the stairs to the bedroom screaming…..only to find Al-Haarith and his father crashed out on the bed. 

It was the sweetest scene that I will never forget. They looked so sweet together. MAsha Allah. My ex looked at me like…whats up with this girl and he went to go to the hospital.

My stepsons(for want of a better word) stayed with me for 18 months. I used to feel guilty that Al-Haarith was an only child for only 6 months until they left and then I was pregnant with Dihyah but actually it was a blessing. They cemented their relationship as brothers…something that can be hard with children for different mothers.

To this day I Love those boys. They drove me insane but I loved them. Al-Haarith loved them too and Im greatful that he had known them.

What am I?

When a parent dies….you are an Orphan

When your wife died you are a Widower

When your husband dies you are a Widow

Dont you think its strange that there are No words to describe a parent that loses a child?

Six Weeks…

It has been 6 weeks since my son died. I wonder if people are bored with my mentioning it again. Sometimes I feel like people are very uncomfortable when I mention my son as if by my not mentioning it ..it makes it easier. 

It doesnt always help when people say everyone dies. Its oh so easy to say when you arent the one that has lost a child. I guess the truth is people dont really know what to say. The people who are supposed to know. Should I say “know” have catergorized the process of grief into stage. What Im trying to do it explain what grief is and how it has affected me and changed my life.

For a while I have been suffering from panic attacks. The first one was scary. I had just sat with my 12 yr old talking about my son and where he was. We were laying in Alhaarith’s bed and I think I drifted off. I woke up unable to catch my breath. My heart was racing. My throat was dry. All I could think was Im about to die. I ran to my living room and told my mum to call 911. She was panicking too. Started to pray over me…made me panic more. I was really scared. I never had this in my life but here I was scared and thinking is this what it is to die. The ambulance came and checked me over. Turned out that it was a panic attack. That was the first one and since then Ive had one other full on one. I usually end the attacks by throwing up. 

Ive had other attacks that have lasted longer but not as acute. Sometimes i feel it coming on when Im feeling particulaly stressed. It happened in the store the other day when I was on line. It happened when I got a phone call from my sons friend to say that his cousin had died in the same manner as mine.

Grief has to be one of  the hardest emotions to have. It physically assaults you. I have a pain in my chest that is constant. I know its grief because in the morning I dont always feel it but as the day progresses I feel it more and more.

Right now I have a pain in my right chest. My throat is dry and I feel a little numb. Im sad. Its gloomy outside and its 6 weeks since my son passed. I miss him. Its a rollercoaster and I hate that I feel this way.

I abhore it.

Last week I had a dream about my son. I dreamed that we were in my old bedroom in my house back in London…the first house that I lived in as a child. My son was in the room and he came towards me. I gestured at him not to speak. I put my finger to my lips and he came towards me. He came to me and he hugged me. That was the dream.

That day I had cried out to Allah  to let me hug him one more time and then I had the dream.

I prefer to think that was a dream that was supposed to ease me. Since that dream..I have been able to sleep properly. I always wake up with the realization that my son isnt here but im able to sleep. I realised that I hadnt slept for over a month.

Anyways thats where Im at today. Not much of a blog but then again this has become a very personal journey for me Sharing it on line is a way that maybe I can help ease someone elses pain.