A Series of Thoughts

I woke up today and thought of my son. I went through breakfast, chats with my parents and the inevitable errands. As I sat in my car, I looked up at the house that I grew up in. Memories flooded my mind and yet, instead of feeling a longing to go inside, I opted to start raking the leaves that littered the entire front yard and driveway.

I find, in times of sadness, the best thing for me to do is to exercise my body physically, and let my thoughts wander where they may. I came inside after 2 hours and sat down with a cup of chai. I was still in a silent yet reflective state. I knew I was being anti-social with mum and dad, but they also knew that I needed the time to work through my thoughts.

Marriage is a joyous thing. I fought hard for my choice in a husband. I went against my parents, my family, my friends, everyone in my quest to marry a convert. I believed that a man, who could accept Allah, who could revert back to Islam, was a wonderful example and that I was truly blessed that such a person wanted me as a wife. Looking back, I realize that the love, the honour and the diligence which I showed to my partner, was never reciprocal. It's a bitter pill to swallow. But, I've accepted it fully now. Friends sometimes ask, if he was to return and ask for another chance, would I grant it to him? No. There is no love left, there is no respect remaining. I'm ambivalent. I’m not angry, nor sad. Simply ambivalent.

The question then revolves around the loss of the greatest gift a murid of Allah has, the blessings of a child. I miss him, deep within my heart and soul, I miss him. I know in my rational mind that he is happy where he is, with Allah, but I miss him nonetheless. Not one day goes by that I do not miss that greatest of all gifts. The memories will always be there. So will the knowledge that his death was senseless, it was wrong and it did not need to happen. I've accepted, after quite a few years, that he is gone and that I cannot change the past. I still don't completely understand why it happened, but I accept that the outcome has my son in a place which is infinitely better than anything I could have given him in this life.

I'm not angry with Allah per se. I am however, sad that He took away something that was so good, so pure and which I wanted more than this life which I lead today. At times, I feel as if I'm coasting, simply going through the motions.

When I got married, I foolishly believed that I would love my husband for the rest of my days on this earth. When I went through my separation, I held onto that belief with the tenacity of a child in the midst of a full-blown tantrum. I've learned quite a lot through the separation and the years since the divorce. The finality of the gavel falling, declaring I was now a divorcee, resulted in me going through the months thereafter in a shell shocked state of mind. Over the course of this past year, I've started slowly emerging from the vestiges of that shock. I've experienced a roller coaster of emotions and lashed out in ways that proved to me that I could still feel.

I hope now that I can really become a good person, a human being that Allah feels is worthy of Jannat. My motivation may seem trivial or wrong to you, but for me, it’s the reasons why I even want to continue to struggle in this life. I want to be able to see, hear, feel and hold the child I lost. I'm not sure, if anyone can truly understand the pain a mother feels if they haven't gone through it. I pray, if you haven't, that you never do.

I'm not the same carefree devil-may-care personality; I was before this life-altering event. In some ways, I'm more mature, I'm more accepting, I'm more open, and I think, stronger for the experience which I've lived through. There are still vestiges of the carefree bubbly girl I was once was. It is good she's somehow still a part of the new me, it helps me to remember, in some ways, the past and that not all of it is mired in grief nor anger.

I pray that I overcome whatever difficulties and weaknesses/temptations that I expose myself to, consciously or unconsciously. I hope I persevere and I truly pray that Allah helps me to achieve this new goal.