time

Subhanallah..... so much has happened since I last blogged. Everything has changed yet nothing has.

My grandad had been ill for some time and his health was rapidly deteriorating. My family, who have never been great at talking about these issues and were therefore, as ever, extremely unclear as to what was actually going on and how he was doing, whenever I called and asked. Finally, a few days later, I cornered my dad and asked straight out if he thought my grandad (nanaji) was going to live long, if he would even make it through the next few days. His answer: No. He based it on how fast my grandad has deteriorated in the last week and the doctors, who could do very little to help him.

I, of course, got worried. I did not want nanaji to die before I saw him one last time. Before I made peace; with him, myself, with what i did not know. I just wanted to see him. I tried to think of ways to get up to Manchester from London, but everything seemed to cost SO much and I had tight finances. What could I do???

But, alhamdulillah, within the next day, my grandmother called to say my uncle was driving up on Saturday morning (within the next day or so), and would I like to come up with him (Lamsee too of course)? Of course, I jumped at the chance.

That Saturday we were ready. My uncle was over 2 hours late because of my cousin (male of course) who kept him waiting. Ugh!

When we finally got to Manchester, after the many delays, we went straight to the hospital. My grandad was pretty out of it, he had jaundice so his skin and eyes (when he managed to open them) were yellow, his entire body was extremely bloated due to water retention, he could barely speak, and most of the time wasn't exactly conscious.

I would like to say I found it distressing to see him like this. Most people would have. Maybe I should have behaved like a distressed "female" and cried and do whatever feminine girls do. But truthfully, seeing him like that wasn't a shock. My mind just absorbed the fact; I never thought about it.

I'm not saying I saw him and I thought, "look at him, he deserved it for what he has done", or that I felt shocked and extremely distressed at the sight. It just was. I'm not sure I can express it, because there was no thought process involved.

We stayed for some hours, I'm not sure how long, and prayed and made dua, and sung him darood. We read some Quran. Alhamdulillah, the staff on the ward were very understanding and compassionate. We finally left after making plans for my uncles (my nanji's sons) so stay with him through the night so he was never alone.

The next morning my sister went with my aunt to the hospital early and I joined them a bit later. When I saw him I knew. I just knew, Wallahi, I just knew in my heart, he would die soon. I had that same feeling before my mother died. Of course, I didn't say anything. At times like this, it is hope that holds the family together. Hope is a blessing Allah has bestowed on us.... a hope for things to get better -and sometimes they do.

His condition had worsened on the night. He was unconscious, only aware of his discomfort; his breathing was disjointed. Not normal breaths, just instinctive, enough to keep him alive; as if his body had forgotten how and his brain had to keep reminding it he needed air. Every 10-20 seconds his body would gasp&jerk and he would breathe. A deepish, rattling cough of someone with compromised lungs. He was barely responsive to his external environment. We read Surah Yaseen to him, sand him Darood, and recited La illaha illalah muhammadur rasoolulah as many times as we could, in many ways. Often singing them so they sounded rhythmic - which he sometimes responded to in a minimal sense.

At about 2.30ish my aunt and Lam (sister) left to cook; I stayed with him. My uncle and dad came. My grandads breathing got slower. Soon my nanaji had visiters. We made dua for him. They all started talking, as people do, about life, people they knew, how my grandad was doing etc etc. As we were talking, out attention had drifted a bit away from my nanaji. I sat there listening, gently stroking my nanji's hand because it seemed to comfort him and was an easy and gentle way to let him know he wasn't alone.

While stroking his hand a felt a little jerk, a twitch, something. Wallahi, even before I looked up I knew. I just knew that this was it, that his soul had just left his body. I knew, I KNEW, that was what I had just felt. I looked up at his face, and for the first time in many hours, his eyes had flown open and he was looking up. I waited to see if his chest would move to breathe. Nothing.
I spoke out, "Nanaji?" a question. No response; not that I expected him to respond.

I could hear everyone behind me stop talking and the room fall quiet, while I concentrated on watching whether he was breathing or not. He wasn't moving. His eyes had a film over them, they were flat. I knew those eyes; the eyes of the dead. They were familiar to me. My mothers eyes. My uncle was trying desperately to feel for a pulse or a breathe; tears were starting to stream down his face. My dad went and got the nurse. The nurse tried to find a pulse; she looked at his face, he exhaled once and she knew then too.... a few seconds later, she moved back. My nanji's eyes closed gently. My uncle kept asking her to find a pulse- what could she say? there wasn't one to find.

I had forgotten about the family - my uncle hadnt. He fumbled with the fone, calling home. I heard him telling them to "come! come now! come now! Its time." as I stroked my nanaji's hand. But the person at the other end just couldn't understand or hear him. I took mercy on him and took the fone off him. Lam was on the other end of the fone; she sounded very confused and kept questioning everything. I just kept repeating, "please come to the hospital straight away. NOW. Come or you'll miss him." Finally the message seemed to permeate.

I stroked my nanaji's hand and waited. My uncle called his wife and family; told them. With the help of the nurses, we rearranged nanaji to lie on the bed straight, and some other things. I knew we had to make him look as normal as possible for the family, otherwise some of them would freak out. Not everyone can handle death.

Finally, my aunt and Lam walked in. I don't know how long it was - time really lost its meaning. I think it took them 15 or 20 mins to get to the hospital. My aunt walked in, leaning on her cane painfully. She wanted to talk to him, unaware. My uncle said "He passed away at 3.40."

"What?WHAT?" was my aunts response. She couldn't take it in; I will never forget the look on her face - a mixture of confusion, devastation, of questions unanswered. She broke down. The rest of the family came in - cried. Lam, my dad, and I ..... the dry eyes in the room. Sounds of questions, sobbing, wailing.... noises. I stroked his hand.

I finally left the room. Wandered between it and the waiting room, talked to different people, helped arrange things for him when I could, wandered. What happens once a person dies? There are so many emotions thrown about and so many practical things to arrange. Where did he want to be buried? Would the hospital arrange things in time?
My dad and my uncles sorted it all out.

My grandmother was stoic - she cried but gently, heartbreakingly for her husband of 60 YEARS. Her husband since she ws 15. Subhanallah. I cannot even imagine what it felt like for her. Could she even remember a time before him - a time when he was not part of her life?

Some people were hysterical - kept questioning his death. Why now? Why when they wern't there? Why could he have not waited longer? Why? Why? Why?

I find these useless questions frustrating. I had no comfort to give them, and very little sympathy, I'm afraid. Thats probably wrong of me, I know. But whats the point in asking these questions? Such questions were asked when my mum died by people - and it annoyed me then too. Like the dying have a choice of time. Like the Angel of Death comes and askes, "Mr Shah, I have an opening at 3.40pm and one at 8pm, which would you prefer?". Come on people!

Such questions are useless. They affect your Iman, and the peace that may have been experienced by the person who just died. They waste time that could be spent in dua and dhikr. And mostly, they do not help to alleviate grief, they aggravate it.

To be honest. I smiled. A bit. I have a habit of smiling at inappropriate times - I can't help it. It gets me into trouble, but I find weird things sometimes make me smile. That was the case in the hours following my nanaji's death. But at times, it wasn't the weirdness that is me that made me smile but also knowing where my nanaji was headed. Jannah.

2 things made me think this: 1) We are told that when a good person dies, one who is destined to go to Jannah, the Angel of Death, Azrael, takes his soul like water pouring from a jug. Gently. Thats how it felt to me.... a gentle tug and my grandad was gone. 2) That Azrael takes the soul up, and the persons eyes follow it. When his soul was taken, when I felt that tug, my nanaji's eyes opened and he was looking up.

So, whats there not to smile about?! As far as I am concerned, and maybe in some peoples eyes this makes me hopeful and silly, my nana is going to jannah. I should be happy. I should be so blessed; to die peacefully and easily, and go to jannah. Subhanallah.

Finally the family went home. Everyone reacts differently in death and to death. Being there was Allah's gift to me, His divine rahma. Allah is omniscient. He knew that I needed to be there; because as he died, my heart was cleansed and forgiveness entered my heart. For what is the point in holding grudges against the dead? Allah does not have mercy on those who do not have mercy on their fellow men. Alhamdulillah, I was able to open my heart and have mercy. I thank Allah for this.

The next few days were hard. So much happened and so much I had to deal with. I discovered my strength.....

Allah has told us: "No soul shall have a burden laid on it greater than it can bear." (2:233)