Page 5 The Islamic Bulletin Issue 21 A true story translated from Arabic. Her cheeks were worn and sunken and her skin hugged her bones. That didn’t stop her though, you could never catch her not reciting Qur’an. Always vigil in her personal prayer room Dad had set up for her. Bowing, prostrating, raising her hands in prayer. That was the way she was from dawn to sunset and back again. As for me, I craved nothing more than fashion magazines and novels. I treated myself all the time to videos until those trips to the rental place became my trademark. As they say, when something becomes habit people tend to distinguish you by it. I was negligent in my responsibilities and laziness characterized my Salah. One night, I turned the video off after a marathon three hours of watching. The adhan softly rose in that quiet night. I slipped peacefully into my blanket. Her voice carried from her prayer room. “Yes? Would you like anything Noorah?” I said. With a sharp needle she popped my plans. “Don’t sleep before you pray Fajr!” “Agh...there’s still an hour before Fajr, that was only the first Adhan!” With those loving pinches of hers, she called me closer. She was always like that, even before the fierce sickness shook her spirit and shut her in bed. “Hanan can you come sit beside me?” I could never refuse any of her requests, you could touch the purity and sincerity. “Yes, Noorah?” “Please sit here.” “OK, I”m sitting. What’s on your mind?” With the sweetest mono voice she began reciting: “Every soul shall taste death and you will merely be repaid your earnings on Resurrection Day.” (Quran 3:185) She stopped thoughtfully. Then she asked, “Do you believe in death?” “Of course I do.” “Do you believe that you shall be responsible for whatever you do, regardless of how small or large?” “I do, but Allah is Forgiving and Merciful and I’ve got a long life waiting for me.” “Stop it Hanan ... aren’t you afraid of death and it’s abruptness? Look at Hind. She was younger than you but she died in a car accident. So did so and so, and so and so. Death is age-blind and your age could never be a measure of when you shall die.” The darkness of the room filled my skin with fear. “I’m scared of the dark and now you made me scared of death, how am I supposed to go to sleep now. Noorah, I thought you promised you’d go with us on vacation during the summer break.” Impact. Her voice broke and her heart quivered. “I might be going on a long trip this year Hanan, but somewhere else. Just maybe. All of our lives are in Allah’s hands and we all belong to Him.” My eyes welled and the tears slipped down both cheeks. I pondered my sisters’ grizzly sickness, how the doctors had informed my father privately that there was not much hope that Noorah was going to outlive the disease. She wasn’t told though. Who hinted to her? Or was it that she could sense the truth? “What are you thinking about Hanan?” Her voice was sharp. “Do you think I am just saying this because I am sick? Uh - uh. In fact, I may live longer than people who are not sick. And you Hanan, how long are you going to live? Twenty years, maybe? Forty? Then what?” Through the dark she reached for my hand and squeezed gently. “There’s no difference between us; we’re all going to leave this world to live in Paradise or agonize in Hell. Listen to the words of Allah: “Anyone who is pushed away from the Fire and shown into Jannah will have triumphed.” (Quran 3:185) I left my sister’s room dazed, her words ringing in my ears: May Allah guide you Hanan - don’t forget your prayer. Eight o’clock in the morning. Pounding on my door. I don’t usually wake up at this time. Crying. Confusion. O Allah, what happened? Noorahs condition became critical after Fajr, they took her immediately to the hospital ... Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un. There wasn’t going to be any trips this summer. It was written that I would spend the summer at home. She’s My Sister
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