Submitted by : ImranAli786 on Death

My Grandma from my father's side of the family has been critically ill. She's been in an out of hospital for a while now; more recently, she suffered a minor heart-attack and fluid around the heart, on top of kidney failure, diabetes and respiratory difficulties. Today, me and my father went to Manchester Royal Infirmary to see how she was.

Once we were in the ward, we asked the nurse at the desk which bed was my Grandma's. "Down the corridor, it's the last side room on the right", she said. We walked into the room, and there was my Grandma, asleep on the bed. Her breathing was heavy and slow; it was evident that she had problems breathing. We slowly walked in and I immediately noticed one thing out of the almost-empty room; a blue Musalla (prayer mat) folded on a nearby chair. I didn't think much of it then, and went to kneel down next to the bed when she woke up. She struggled to smile, but managed one; my father and I, in turn, hugged her and sat on either side of the bed.

I hardly knew any Bengali, never have, and so all I could do was sit there, let my father and Grandma talk, and smile and nod whenever she looked at me. She could hardly speak, her voice was faint and at the most a whisper; her lungs seemed incapable of filling to her desire, and so she was restricted to saying 2-3 words before striving to take another breath. My father got out a tray of fruit we brought for Grandma, and gave her small pieces of melon. I felt so terrible, handing her pieces of fruit that she could barely lift her arm to put into her mouth; it was worse seeing her struggle to move her jaw to cut down the already-small pieces and swallow with pain showing in her strain. It was then I looked back and fixated on the Musalla. How can she possibly stand, bow and prostrate when she can hardly lift her arm to feed herself? It was then a more subliminal question came into mind; why is it that I miss my own prayers for stupid, insignificant reasons and she, in her weakened state, can endeavour to perform all of her's? Guilt overcame me, and intensified when she attempted to talk to me. "You ok, Imran?", I managed to translate with my limited Bengali vocabulary, and replied. Sometimes, she would utter things to me that I could pretty much guess what she was saying; things like "Why don't you speak Bengali, Imran" and other things I couldn't decipher. I felt so guilty; I am one who enjoys learning new things and one who detests ignorance, and yet I am probably her only grandchild who can't speak the only language she knows. Nevertheless, when I could do nothing but smile, she would strain to return one.

Time passed, and I was left the whole time to dwell in my own guilt. I was then brought out of my trance by the sound of silent crying from my father. I then attentively listened to their conversation, and heard constantly "Allah...... Allah...................Allah......" I concluded that my father was making Dua (prayer) for her. Visiting times was coming to an end as the nurse entered the room and asked if we could soon leave. My father, a very strong man and role model to me, was on the verge of breaking down in  tears, but regained his strength and wiped them from his face. He leaned over the bed and kissed Grandma on the forehead and hugged her. He stayed there for a good 10 seconds, crying into her shoulder. My Grandma, too weak to shed a tear, reassured him everything will be fine. She then weakly lifted her arms to me as I hugged her. She kissed me on the forehead and released me from her embrace. Leaving the door, my father said one last sentence to her and left. I looked at her and smiled, for that was all I could do. I felt disgusted with myself; 'my Grandma could be on her deathbed and I could barely make conversation with her', is what I thought. Allahu A'lam (Only God knows) if I will be able to redeem myself to her again...

We walked through the corridor and back to the lift. I pressed the button as my father stood there; devastation was clear in his blood-shot eyes. We entered the empty lift and began the descent. It was quite a walk to the car, and my father started to tell me of what him and Grandma were talking about. He told me that he doesn't think she will make it out of this. I refused to believe him, and asked why he thought so. He told me that Grandma has been having dreams, dreams of someone taking her to nowhere and leaving her there, where she cannot find a way to go. I questioned the significance of this, and he explained that these kind of dreams are often witnessed when one is close to death. I didn't want to dwell on his conviction, and changed the subject. I asked him about a certain conversation they had when my name was mentioned a number of times. My father struggled to smile, then explained:

"I asked your Grandma to make Dua (prayer) for you, to make your studying easy and your future successful and for you to remain in good health. She said to me, 'You don't need to ask me that; I've been praying for Imran constantly. After every one of my Namaaz (prayer), I dedicate almost every one of my Dua's to Imran'"

I've never been a person who cries a lot, then again, cry at all, but I felt at that moment like breaking down. My heart rose to my throat and my vision was impaired with tears. I tried to stay strong and refused to let it out, held it all in, and me and him continued in silence to the car.

The drive home didn't consist of much talking, mostly silence with a hint of the engine. Halfway through our return, I put on the Nasheed CD I made for car travels. It came on, and I instantly pressed 'repeat' on that one Nasheed and we listened to its lyrics all the way home...:

"No matter what inside or out...

There's one thing of which there's no doubt...

Allah Knows... Allah Knows...

And whatever lies in the Heavens and the Earth...

Every star in this whole Universe...

Allah Knows... Allah Knows..."

.........................................................................

Some of you are probably thinking, "Why did I just read this guy's story of him going to see his Grandma?!". There is a reason for it. I hope that by reading this account of my day, I've opened your eyes to an inevitability... death.

"Death is the only certainty in this life." (Prophet Muhammad)

Now I don't want to ponder on death and make everyone miserable, but I want to remind you that we will all fall into it's grasp some day, as will our loved ones. Before that happens, we need to address some problems:

We must vanquish our ignorance - I am still overwhelmed with the guilt I have of not being able to talk to my Grandmother who could well be on her deathbed. I only pray that I have the chance to learn and interact with her before her time comes. Strive for knowledge, for it is one thing that will continue when you leave this world.

Don't wait for death - Death does not draw near with age. If you've been to a graveyard/cemetery, you'll notice that there aren't just the elderly who lay there, but young men and women, teenagers, childrens and even babies. Live each day as if it was your last, for you have no control of your fate.

Cherish your loved ones - If you would have asked me a few months ago when I thought my Grandma would pass away, I wouldn't have predicted it for anytime soon. And now... well. Love those close to you, and aspire every day to make them smile, for their time is just as unpredictable as your's.

Have faith - "And whatever lies in the Heavens and the Earth... Every star in this whole Universe... Allah Knows... Allah Knows..." When you accept that your fate is not in your control, but God's, you will feel comfort, for he is al-Muhyi (The Giver of Life) and al-Mumit (The Taker of Life).

To conclude this message, I'll just give one statement to overview my message. Cherish this life. I ask you to pray that I will get another chance to see my Grandma, that I will learn her language and I will finally get to tell her just how much I love her. If you can take anything away from this, take 'appreciation' and let it embellish your life.

Cherish this life, embellish this life... all with appreciation.