Walking amidst the colourful autumn leaves left me thinking of quite an apt analogy. What if the autumn tree represented the standing of our social community? And what if every leaf that held to that tree, was somebody we knew? Would these fallen leaves then represent people who are no longer with us in this world?
This relativity feels so fitting of the thoughts that have been swimming in my mind recently as I think of the several times in the last month that I have heard of someone that I know, passing away.
But what seems most appropriate is the colour of these leaves; though fallen from the tree, they are bright and beautiful – just like the personalities of the individuals that we remember. It is their true colours that last as memories, like the vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows of these autumn leaves.
On Saturday 23rd August, a lady from Bathurst Community passed away. Though I was in London at the time, and I didn’t know her too well; memories of seeing her in Mahe Ramadhan with her elderly mother were quite vivid. I had spoken to her in passing since I moved to Canada, and knew her only by face. But something about her death triggered emotions.
A month later, on the 24th of September, 2014 my grandmother’s brother, Uncle Abdul, passed away.
I recall a week prior to his passing, when I received the message that he had suffered a heart attack and was being airlifted to Nairobi. Having just seen him at his heartiest, weeks before at a family wedding, I couldn’t quite grasp the seriousness of his situation. But Allah (SWT) had a better plan for Him, and his passing away left many of us with a sense of emptiness; an elderly member of our family, a fabric of our ancestry, taken by His will.
Only a few days later, Jaffer uncle Abdulhussein, a family friend from Orlando, passed away. I recalled countless memories from when we used to live in Orlando. From the Eid gatherings at his home, to the Orange Picking events at his farm; Jaffer uncle was a man of great hospitality and generosity.
With his jet-black hair, half smile, and gruff voice, and his hands always in his pocket, Jaffer uncle was a jolly man; always at the top of his game. I guess this was partially why it was so difficult to imagine that he was not well.
We, as humans, just don’t expect people we know to just pass away and leave us behind – we secretly, and selfishly, expect them to be around forever.
All these thoughts brought me to open Sahifa-e-Sajjadiyya to find some words of comfort or solace.
Du’a #40 in this book is titled as ‘His Supplication when Death is Mentioned’.
In it, we ask Allah (SWT) to spare us from high expectations and to bring us towards sincerity, to live each day as if it were our last; not to expect an hour after having already completed an hour, or a day after having already lived a day.
These first few words jolted my thoughts. If we truly lived that way, would our lives not be so much more different? Our appreciation for each moment would be endless, our remembrance of God would be continuous, and our path of life would be paved immaculately.
It would be easier for us to accept those who have left this world before us, and His plans would be a source of comfort and a guidance for us to set right our goals and aims.
I decided that to feel this way, I would have to recite this Du’a time and time again, not only when Death is mentioned by others, but also when I remember the true value of the years in my life, or the life in my years.
So every now and then, I take a ten minute time-out from my worldly routine, open to Du’a #40, and remind myself again of how I should feel, and with what intention I should live my life….