When I was 9 or so, my mother was diagnosed with cancer and we moved from Pakistan to Manchester. I don't remember the move being particularly traumatic (probably I was too dense to realise it was permanant!).... from my memories, I'd guess I was pretty excited about the whole thing. I only remember a small kernal of fear at the very extreme illness of mother. But kids.... u know... I barely realised how much my life was changing.
In Manchester, we (mum, sister, and I) lived with my maternal grandparents. Very tranditonal, very different from my parents. I had problems (still do) understanding how they work and applying their kazzillion rules and regulations to my life.
I was brought up by parents in an Islamic environment, where free thinking and broad horizons were encouraged... and questions were a good thing. Not so in my grandparents household... there, their word was law, and no questions were to be asked (that was percieved as a question of their authority and wisdom).... needless to say, I rebelled and became an evil little girl.
Lots of arguments ensued. Years passed (my mother died). I grew up. Matured (I hope).
But my grandparents perception of me altered very little and by this stage I was just as much at fault because I did very little to encourage them to see me as a better person (u know, better than a spoilt, rebellious brat). I got on with my life, tried to avoid them, and stayed out of the house as much as possible (uh oh).
My grandad was one of the people who made my life hell many a times. He was argumentative, belligerant, mean, stubborn, caustic, callous, senile, and many more....
He did many many bad things, and even when he did do good deeds, generous or kind acts - he'd end up spoiling it by speech or action.
But he is also the man who stands to read the Quran for 15 or more hours day. Who knows the whole Quran off by heart and many, many hadiths too.
He is also the man who is at this moment in a hospital bed in Manchester.... probably dying. He has cancer and at his age he will invariably have many complications and it doesnt look good.
He is suffering. The family don't think he will live much longer.
And I feel evil. Because I don't know how I feel.
I love him on one hand. And on the other hand, I cannot help remembering all the bad he has done over the years....
He gave us a place to live when my mother was ill, provided a place for us to stay when she died.
I love him BECAUSE he is my grandad..... but can I love him?
Do I? Can I forgive him? Is there anything to forgive - or is it up to Allah?
I just dont know!
2 comments:
Hmmmmmmmm, usually Grandparents and Grandchildren are natural allies......whenever I need to get my mum or dad told off I go straight to my Grandmother; after all, she is The Godmother!?!?!?!
If there is anything you feel you want to forgive him for, then you should.....we'll never be able to repay our elders for all the countless things that they have done for us. Besides, in light of his critical condition, it may not be appropraite to be deliberating this.
After all, if we do not forgive others, then how do we expect Allah to forgive us?
exactly!
But realising this doesnt mean my emotions follow my thought processes.
I wish I was a strong enough Muslim as to do this automatically... mayb this is a sign of the weakness of my imaan...
The thing is, I'v been thinking about forgiveness, my grandad, and others, for a while (previous to the current situation), its just the current situation has lent this thought process urgency.
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