And...

As Salaamu’alaykum again,

I’ve decided (now that I am actually communicating a bit through my blog again) to share a personal detail of my life with you all. I do not generally relate such things in the context of a blog, for it seems to me to be too public a forum for some types of information. It is not something I speak of much even in person, for sometimes our feelings run too deep for words, and sometimes trying to find the words can be too painful. I tell you this so you will have some knowledge of the context of my life, as it may be important so that you will understand the underlying motivation and tone of what I write.

I have told you before that I am living in Senegal with my children this year, where we are attending a Qur’an school founded by my Shaykh. What I have not told you is what happened after we arrived. I had known for years of my mother’s cancer. What began more than 10 years ago as breast cancer, and was treated with a ‘98%’ cure rate (or so the doctors said), returned about 5 years ago in the bone. There have been many advances in this particular field of cancer research, and hormone treatments worked very well to keep her cancer in remission until this last year. She then began chemotherapy treatments (pills and then intravenous), and we had much hope that they would be successful at least for a year or two. Sadly, they were not.

It was in the midst of this that we decided to go ahead with our trip to Africa, and my mother told me that if anything went wrong with her treatments, all she desired was for me to return for her funeral so that I would be there in support of the family. But when you get a call on a Friday night saying that your mother has been given two months to live, and you have the funds for a ticket, it is necessary to travel quickly to see her, for it may be the last time you ever have that chance. And so I left my children at the school in Africa, and spent about two weeks visiting my mother and family. She worried constantly about them while I was gone, and asked me not to return for her funeral. I had only been back in Africa for one week when I got word of a serious deterioration in her condition, giving her only days left to live, and so I returned again, as it seemed the only right thing to do under the circumstances. I would not have had it any other way, for that time was a great trial for the family, a trial of patience, endurance, and faith in our decree and design by Allah.

What is there to say when the person you have communicated almost every day of your life is suddenly taken out of it. I cannot say much, but I hear it in my voice as I recite Qur’an. I read it in my words no matter how generalized. I feel it in the core of my soul, but I hide most of it from the world for it is something I only understand in solitude in corners and rooftops. Some times are more difficult than others.

A broken heart is an open heart, ready to be filled. My prayer is that my heart will be filled with the greatest love for Allah and His Prophet (saws).

I have posted below the eulogy I wrote for my mother, as a tribute to her and all she gave me in this life.