7 years

7 years is a long time yet it flies - God, how it flies. Subhanallah, where does the time go??
I am 23 years old but I dont feel it. I still think of myself as a girl, a child in some ways, still with much much more to learn about the world and the people in it. And yet.... 7 years is a long time to do your growing up in. 7 years ago I was 16. No... not sweet 16. 7 years ago, yesterday, was the 17th of Ramadan. Like yesterday was the 17th of Ramadan. 1427 years ago, yesterday, was the day of a great battle in Arabia. A battle that changed the lives of those that fought it, and those who didnt. Its effects reverberated throughout the Arabian province and changed the future, as well as the present. It was the first battle of Islam - our first major victory on the battle field. And what a stupendous and amazing victory it was! It was ofcourse the Battle of Badr.

But yesterday - the 17th of Ramadan 1427AH has another significance in my life. I cannot explain how important an 'anniversery' it is. Yet nothing on the scale or magnificanc of the battle of Badr ofcourse.

It the anniversiry of my mothers death. On the 17th Ramadan 1420AH at Maghrib time - my mother passed away.

I think it is easy and fair to say, she was the single greatest inspiration of my life - and still is. I really dont know how I have survived without her. I say that without meaning to be melodramatic or showy - its just a fact. She was a HUGE part of my life, as mothers usually are in any childs but my mum really was part of me and my life.

Its hard to describe how it felt to watch her die - which I did. I was there... I watched her breathe her last breath. I saw the look of peace on her face and the faint smile. She smelt..... neutral. I know thats a weird description but its a true one. You know how when you are in an area that smells bad or weird and suddenly you go into one that just is, it has no smell - and that lack of odour smells good? Thats what she smelt like. I imagine that smell to be the smell of peace. Of tranquility. Of her lack of pain.

I do not understand and cannot comprehend the pain she must have been in - her cancer ate into every part of her body, into every organ and yet she held on. For me. For us. For her children to be ready to let their mother go. Even then.... she thought of others first.

She was the most amazing woman. She was a teacher in the truest sense of the word. Teaching was her life. Not just the 'in-the-classroom' teaching that teachers are now known for, though she was dedicated to that too, but the kind of teacher that oozes lessons from her pores, who teaches by example, by philosophy of life. The best kind of teacher. The kind people loved, because they just couldnt help it.

She had the worst temper. She was patient but once you pushed her beyond her point, her line - my advice to you would have been to run! (and yes, I did a lot of running!)

Sad to say but my relationship with her was turbulent. I wasnt the easiest of children and sometimes I really really tried her patience. But she always always let me know that no matter what - she loved me. Completely. Unhesitantly. Unreservedly. Wholly.

That kind of love can never be found. It exists only between a mother and child. And my link to my mother was broken when I was 16.

I do not feel bad she died. I do not think of the 'whys' or 'wherefors'. She died. Fact.Move on.
People die.

I loved her. I love her still. I wish she could be with me. To hold. To hug. To kiss. I would treasure her more than I ever did when she was alive. I would hold onto every word, every breathe, every syllabal, every second, minute, hour, every kiss, every hug, every argument, every telling-off.... cos truth to tell - you only ever have one mother.

And once she is gone - nothing else will do.

It is Ramadan... a time for prayer and rememberance. So please remember my mother in your duas - pray she has attained peace and jannah. Pray that I, and my sister, and my father, will one day join here in Jannatal Firdous - insha'allah.