GRIEF: Does it ever end?
My Dad would have been 60 today.
For writers, there are topics that are vulnerable to the heart and we tend to avoid because we don’t want to feel certain emotions. Today, I had to push myself to write this article I have been postponing for 11 months now.
Nothing and Nobody prepares you for grief. No one can actually explain it. Experiencing grief might be different for everyone; hence, you have no right to judge how others assimilate and react to it.
There I was, watching as he took his last breath; I was terrified and unsure. I started doubting the doctors. Could they have made a mistake? Probably he was in coma. They should have left him on life support longer than they did. And other thoughts similar to that. But I was lying to myself. Angel Azrā’il had visited my father. I tapped his feet, prayed for him and left the ICU.
I could not cry. I was listening to my uncle suggesting about mortuary; that was when it dawned on me that I’m FINISHED. I went straight to the hospital mosque to pray Isha. My elder sister was on the staircase, crying. The rest of us were in grief, numb. I went on whatsapp, people were posting already. I was getting calls; I picked some and could not pick others. I was seated outside with my brother until I saw some men bringing his body to the ambulance, I could not stand the sight of that so I left. Friends and family were trooping into the hospital, but only we understood how we felt individually. Heck, I don’t understand, I just know. That feeling is indescribable. I was chanting random adhkars.
We could not sleep that night. I really applaud Ya Ulfaad for being courageous enough to drive us home. That sounds like mental stability to me, or a coping mechanism. Whichever.
In essence, what I’m trying to say is that you can never be prepared for the surge of emotions. The unexpected part is that no hour passes by without me thinking about him. I thought it was going to stop at some point, but it keeps going, its 11 months already. Every little thing is likely to trigger me. From seeing his pictures, to passing by the hospital and Gudu road generally, to doing things that ordinarily he would have been the one to do, to entering his room which I hate to because it breaks my heart. No one understands. I don’t expect anyone to, anyway.
Don’t get me talking about the awkward way people react when I chip him in a conversation. Like I’m just sighting an example in a conversation, I’m not weeping, grieving or sad. I’m just mentioning something I could relate to. However, I have realized how hard it is for people to react or say something. Only a few people know how to. Mostly those who can relate. I try to avoid posting his pictures or tweeting about him because I do not want to feel like I am seeking for attention, or pity. I internally cry. No one knows, No one will understand.
Additionally, you don’t get prepared for the feeling of guilt and regret. You start regretting how you should have shown more love, admiration, kindness to him, how you should have spent more time getting to know about his whole life and journey. So many regrets.
The thing is I never expected my dad to leave, I was mentally optimistic he would get better. Had I known. I try not to beat myself about this. There are ways I could do better, even though I would prefer to see him instead. But I can do sadaqatul jariya on his behalf, do the things he loved, maintain his legacy, avoid things he frowned upon and most importantly pray for him in every salat, situation and any chance I get.
At this point I start realizing how significant his man has been to me. How and why he made several decisions that I did not agree with some. I reflect on his intentions, his life, his family, and all that. I am just realizing how great of a man my dad was. I hate using the word ‘was’ on him. There is NO ONE like him. Not in his family, not in his state. I’m sure its dawning on them too. He curated a unique path for himself and lived through it unapologetically. THAT MAN WAS A GREAT MAN. HAMZA ELAYO MOHAMMED was an ASSET i must say.
Also I made a mental note to be greater than him. Hopefully I can, Lol. If only I could acquire ¼ of that man’s versatility and knowledge. A fountain of knowledge. I cannot even describe him enough. What I love most about him is how everyone I meet will describe his humility before anything else. Not 99.8% of people, I tell you 100% of people that know Hamza Elayo describe him as Humble & Jovial, before anything else. I keep asking myself “can I beat that?”. The apple does not fall far from the tree, anyway. I mentally say I will make him proud, and then realize I won’t see that cute smile on his face. I become heartbroken. I am working towards that. Now I feel like I have released a burden on my chest.
HAMZA ELAYO MOHAMMED, You are loved, valued, missed and represented. Rest well. I LOVE YOU, ALWAYS & FOREVER.
Alhamdulillah thumma Alhamdulillah. This sort of feel like a tribute. Or maybe not, Lol.
Please pray for him when you read this. Ma’assalam.
