salsabeela
19-11-07, 10:49 AM
Assalamu alaikum everybody,
Have you guys read this beautiful story (not mine):
She's My Sister - A True Story
Translated By: Muhammad Alshareef
"Faith is believing what we do not see. The reward of this faith is to see what we believe."
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,
boredom was for others.
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?"
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 Adhaan!"
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"
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."
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. After an eternity...
It was one O'clock in the afternoon. Mother phoned the hospital. 'Yes.
You can come and see her now.' Dad's voice had changed,
mother could sense something had gone deathly wrong.
We left immediately.
Where was that avenue I used to travel and thought was so short?
Why was it so long now, so very long. Where was the cherished
crowd and traffic that would give me a chance to gaze left and right.
Everyone, just move out of our way. Mother was shaking her
head in her hands crying as she made dua' for her Noorah.
We arrived at the hospitals main entrance.
One man was moaning, another was involved in an accident
and a third's eyes were iced, you couldn't tell if he was alive or dead.
We skipped stairs to Noorahs floor. She was in intensive care.
The nurse approached us. 'Let me take you to her.' As we walked
down the aisles the nurse went on expressing how sweet a girl Noorah was.
She reassured Mother somewhat that Noorah's condition had gotten
better than what it was in the morning.
'Sorry. No more than one visitor at a time.' This was the intensive
care unit. Through the small window in the door and past the
flurry of white robes I caught my sisters eyes. Mother was standing
beside her. After two minutes, mother came out unable to control her crying.
'You may enter and say Salaam to her on condition that you do
not speak too long,' they told me. 'Two minutes should be enough.'
"How are you Noorah? You were fine last night sister, what happened?"
We held hands, she squeezed harmlessly. 'Even now, Alhamdulillah,
I'm doing fine.'
"Alhamdulillah ... but ... your hands are so cold."
I sat on her bedside and rested my fingers on her knee.
She jerked it away. "Sorry ... did I hurt you?"
"No, it is just that I remembered Allah's words:
"One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud)"
... Hanan pray for me. I may be meeting the first day of the
hearafter very soon. It is a long journey and I haven't prepared
enough good deeds in my suitcase.'
A tear escaped my eye and ran down my cheek at her words.
I cried and she joined me. The room blurred away and left us
two sisters - to cry together. Rivulets of tears splashed down on
my sister's palm which I held with both hands. Dad was now
becoming more worried about me. I've never cried like that before.
At home and upstairs in my room, I watched the sun pass away
with a sorrowful day. Silence mingled in our corridors. A cousin
came in my room, another. The visitors were many and all the
voices from downstairs stirred together. Only one thing was
clear at that point ... Noorah had died!
I stopped distinguishing who came and who went.
I couldn't remember what they said. O Allah, where was I?
What was going on? I couldn't even cry anymore.
Later that week they told me what had happened.
Dad had taken my hand to say goodbye to my sister for the last time, I had kissed Noorah's head.
I remember only one thing though, seeing her spread on that bed,
the bed that she was going to die on. I remembered the verse she recited:
"One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud)"
and I knew too well the truth of the next verse:
"The drive on that day we be to your Lord (Allah)!"
I tiptoed into her prayer room that night. Staring at the quiet
dressers and silenced mirrors, I treasured who it was that had shared my mother's stomach with me. Noorah was my twin sister.
I remembered who I had swapped sorrows with. Who had comforted
my rainy days. I remembered who had prayed for my guidance and
who had spent so many tears for so many long nights telling me about
death and accountability. May Allah save us all.
Tonight is Noorah's first night that she shall spend in her tomb.
O Allah, have mercy on her and illumine her grave. This was her Qur'an,
her prayer mat and and this was the spring rose-colored dress that she told
me she would hide until she got married, the dress she wanted to keep just for her husband.
I remembered my sister and cried over all the days that I had lost.
I prayed to Allah to have mercy on me, accept me and forgive me.
I prayed to Allah to keep her firm in her grave as she always liked
to mention in her supplications.
At that moment, I stopped. I asked myself: what if it was I who
had died? Where would I be moving on to? Fear pressed me and the
tears began all over again.
"Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar..."
The first adhan rose softly from the Masjid, how beautiful it sounded
this time. I felt calm and relaxed as I repeated the Muadhdhins call.
I wrapped the shawl around my shoulders and stood to pray Fajr.
I prayed as if it was my last prayer, a farewell prayer, just like
Noorah had done yesterday. It had been her last Fajr.
Now and inshaAllah for the rest of my life, if I awake in the mornings
I do not count on being alive by evening, and in the evening I
do not count on being alive by morning.
We are all going on Noorah's journey
what have we prepared for it?
Have you guys read this beautiful story (not mine):
She's My Sister - A True Story
Translated By: Muhammad Alshareef
"Faith is believing what we do not see. The reward of this faith is to see what we believe."
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,
boredom was for others.
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?"
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 Adhaan!"
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"
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."
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. After an eternity...
It was one O'clock in the afternoon. Mother phoned the hospital. 'Yes.
You can come and see her now.' Dad's voice had changed,
mother could sense something had gone deathly wrong.
We left immediately.
Where was that avenue I used to travel and thought was so short?
Why was it so long now, so very long. Where was the cherished
crowd and traffic that would give me a chance to gaze left and right.
Everyone, just move out of our way. Mother was shaking her
head in her hands crying as she made dua' for her Noorah.
We arrived at the hospitals main entrance.
One man was moaning, another was involved in an accident
and a third's eyes were iced, you couldn't tell if he was alive or dead.
We skipped stairs to Noorahs floor. She was in intensive care.
The nurse approached us. 'Let me take you to her.' As we walked
down the aisles the nurse went on expressing how sweet a girl Noorah was.
She reassured Mother somewhat that Noorah's condition had gotten
better than what it was in the morning.
'Sorry. No more than one visitor at a time.' This was the intensive
care unit. Through the small window in the door and past the
flurry of white robes I caught my sisters eyes. Mother was standing
beside her. After two minutes, mother came out unable to control her crying.
'You may enter and say Salaam to her on condition that you do
not speak too long,' they told me. 'Two minutes should be enough.'
"How are you Noorah? You were fine last night sister, what happened?"
We held hands, she squeezed harmlessly. 'Even now, Alhamdulillah,
I'm doing fine.'
"Alhamdulillah ... but ... your hands are so cold."
I sat on her bedside and rested my fingers on her knee.
She jerked it away. "Sorry ... did I hurt you?"
"No, it is just that I remembered Allah's words:
"One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud)"
... Hanan pray for me. I may be meeting the first day of the
hearafter very soon. It is a long journey and I haven't prepared
enough good deeds in my suitcase.'
A tear escaped my eye and ran down my cheek at her words.
I cried and she joined me. The room blurred away and left us
two sisters - to cry together. Rivulets of tears splashed down on
my sister's palm which I held with both hands. Dad was now
becoming more worried about me. I've never cried like that before.
At home and upstairs in my room, I watched the sun pass away
with a sorrowful day. Silence mingled in our corridors. A cousin
came in my room, another. The visitors were many and all the
voices from downstairs stirred together. Only one thing was
clear at that point ... Noorah had died!
I stopped distinguishing who came and who went.
I couldn't remember what they said. O Allah, where was I?
What was going on? I couldn't even cry anymore.
Later that week they told me what had happened.
Dad had taken my hand to say goodbye to my sister for the last time, I had kissed Noorah's head.
I remember only one thing though, seeing her spread on that bed,
the bed that she was going to die on. I remembered the verse she recited:
"One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud)"
and I knew too well the truth of the next verse:
"The drive on that day we be to your Lord (Allah)!"
I tiptoed into her prayer room that night. Staring at the quiet
dressers and silenced mirrors, I treasured who it was that had shared my mother's stomach with me. Noorah was my twin sister.
I remembered who I had swapped sorrows with. Who had comforted
my rainy days. I remembered who had prayed for my guidance and
who had spent so many tears for so many long nights telling me about
death and accountability. May Allah save us all.
Tonight is Noorah's first night that she shall spend in her tomb.
O Allah, have mercy on her and illumine her grave. This was her Qur'an,
her prayer mat and and this was the spring rose-colored dress that she told
me she would hide until she got married, the dress she wanted to keep just for her husband.
I remembered my sister and cried over all the days that I had lost.
I prayed to Allah to have mercy on me, accept me and forgive me.
I prayed to Allah to keep her firm in her grave as she always liked
to mention in her supplications.
At that moment, I stopped. I asked myself: what if it was I who
had died? Where would I be moving on to? Fear pressed me and the
tears began all over again.
"Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar..."
The first adhan rose softly from the Masjid, how beautiful it sounded
this time. I felt calm and relaxed as I repeated the Muadhdhins call.
I wrapped the shawl around my shoulders and stood to pray Fajr.
I prayed as if it was my last prayer, a farewell prayer, just like
Noorah had done yesterday. It had been her last Fajr.
Now and inshaAllah for the rest of my life, if I awake in the mornings
I do not count on being alive by evening, and in the evening I
do not count on being alive by morning.
We are all going on Noorah's journey
what have we prepared for it?