I lost my grandfather. Being a reserved person who internalizes most of her feelings, this truly felt like the most unbelievable part of 2020. I regret not spending more moments with him. I felt his unhappiness before he left. It’s like he wanted to tell me he was not happy with where I was. That was the worst feeling. I never saw him before he was taken to the hospital. Vividly remembering, the last time I saw him was in the afternoon that day as he struggled to breathe. Fighting for every inhale and exhale. I didn’t understand. I was ignorant. A normal seasonal sickness, I thought. Nothing more than that. Little did I know that would be the last time I would see him alive. My grandfather was a disciplined man, strict with his routine. I was his first and most spoilt grandchild. He would sing me songs in my childhood, share stories of valiance, take me to every neighborhood on his bicycle, and buy me all the snacks I wanted. I don’t remember much of it, but I get told all the time about it.
I miss him. I miss his presence. It’s like they say, you only realize what you’ve lost after it’s gone. Days after his death, I found his smell fading away slowly and that feeling creeped in on me…it’s like I wanted to hold onto his presence, and yet couldn’t stop time. So much of me didn’t want to believe he was gone. For days, I would hear the beep of motorcycles in my neighborhood and would imagine him walking into his home. My grandfather never once missed going to the mosque for his prayer -- for the first time he had to be in quarantine far from the local masjid. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to do that. But more so, how difficult it must be to have your body fight COVID-19. Before my family took him to the hospital on a Thursday night, I was studying. When I found out he was being taken, I thought to myself, what if they put him in the COVID-19 isolation ward? The fear around this virus was at its peak, and most frightened at the sight of a hospital. But my grandfather insisted on going to the hospital. I remember those moments and feel the shame cripple my body. If only, I had met him before he left. If only, I had hugged him one last time. So much of myself wants to shake that person who prioritized studying over her family. The night of his death, I never knew. I had prayed for his life after finding out his condition was critical, only to find out the next morning that he had left this world before my prayer. It wasn’t the prayer. But his time. Written in stone! Nothing could’ve changed it. The morning I found out, I felt something I had never felt before. Desperation. How dare I ignore all the other deaths? How dare I forget this reality that would come upon me someday too? How dare I be so unthankful? I was desperate to God to forgive me.
I still find this to be the biggest loss of my life, but also the greatest gain. The person I became after my grandfather’s death changed me for the better. I realized that every small moment with your loved ones is like a picture that goes un-erased, a timestamp that stays in your brain forever. However, there still exists an uneasiness, an emptiness when I see the Quran he used to read, or the prayer mat he would supplicate on. Every happy moment feels bittersweet, as if it’s missing an important presence, my grandfather’s. As soon as I found out that I passed my first-year exams, I remembered him. I wanted to imagine his reaction to it, would he be as happy as I was? Part of me still doesn’t want to believe his absence, and the other part seeks to be with him. I pray he’s in Paradise, but I pray even more to be with him in paradise. I never wanted to think about death. His passing opened me up to the saltiest truth of this world: Dying. For the first time, I gained closeness to this concept and felt my own time near. For majority of the time, I didn’t forgive myself for my mistakes. I think I’m starting to. I’ve realized that if I don’t show mercy to myself, I’m being unthankful to God. If God is the most merciful, then who am I to doubt his compassion? I’m not here to encourage guilt or deny its existence, but to share a part of my life I kept very private. Vulnerability allows for a sense of accountability. Yes, it was wrong of me to be so hard on myself, to ignore the importance of family, and more so, to doubt God’s mercy and his ability to forgive. God increases your faith in the most fascinating ways through trials. Even the worst of moments has its own share of beauty, waiting to be discovered.
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