Trader Joe's Guy

I was shopping with Shifaa in Trader Joe's today when one of the Morroccan/Algerian clerks smiled and waved at me from afar.  "How's the Hajji?" he asked. 

With about five people between us, I just smiled, shook my head and moved towards him. "Alhamdulillah." 
"I haven't seen him in so long," he said, with a smile and a perplexed look on his face. 
"He passed away," I said, and teared up. 
"SubhanaAllah." He was silent for a bit.  "When?" 
"Four weeks ago." 
"When?"  He scratched his head and asked again.
"October 2nd."
He was silent for a bit and shook his head.  "I only knew him for a short while, bas kaan 3zeez 3la al qalb.  3athamaAllahu ajrakum." 
I couldn't stop the tears, said thank you and moved away. 
SubhanaAllah Baba.  People are still asking about you.  You touched everyone's lives.  CVS store clerks and Trader Joes' salesmen.  May Allah accept from you and keep these people remembering you and making duaa' for you.
A smile here, a greeting there, a minute to converse with these people who you didn't know as anything but Muslim.  You searched for them, read their nametags, asked them where they were from and picked your brethern out from the crowds.  May Allah accept. Love.

fatima

Salaam Baba

I've been dreaming about you during these last few weeks... Nothing that I believe is significant.  But I'm always thinking about you.  And for some weird reason, each time, we know you're going to die, but you're alive at that moment, and we hug and are happy.

This last time you finally looked healthy.  Not thin and frail like you did in your last couple of months, like I saw you in my first two dreams.  Maybe your memory is getting farther from my mind, and that's why I'm not seeing the real you.  But the real you is alive inside of me.

Last time you actually came back from death.  Ridiculous, I know.  But in the dream everyone told us it could never happen, but it did.  And you were alive, after being gone for a couple of hours in the hospital, alive, sitting in your bed, and having a regular conversation with mama and I.  Except that it wasn't that regular.  It was one of our discussions, again, about having visitors.  Again, mama wanted to keep everyone at bay, but you and I wanted to give people a chance to come in and say their good byes to you.  Weird, but that's what I dreamt.  And in the dream, I knew something wasn't normal, but it was real to me, and possible.  And I was happy to see you talking and in full health.

I miss you so much baba.  I'm so sorry I didn't give you more of myself.  Allah yirhamak.  I ask Allah SWT to accept you with the saaliheen and to grant me the chance to meet with you in the highest station in Jannah.  You pushed yourself to the utmost, and I plan to take a little bit of your energy and channel it into my daily life.  I haven't reached your determination, but I thank you for giving me a push, with your death.  Allah yirhamak.  Miss you.

fatima

Today

I didn't think I could still cry, but today I thought of my father on my drive to my daughter's class, and I cried.  I cried because I had hope that I wasn't totally a bad daughter.  I hugged him whenever I saw him.  I tried.  But my life has been a life of regrets this week.  I wish I spent more time with him. I wish I took him with me on more trips.  I wish I took more pics of him, more videos, captured more moments.  I wish I conversed with him.  I wish I lived on my knowledge that he wouldn't be with me for much longer.

I knew it was his last Ramadan with me. I knew he didn't have much longer with me.  I knew he was slowly dwindling away in front of me.  But I did not act on it.  What is wrong with me? What is wrong with humans?  When does knowledge become action?  When do we turn thoughts into behaviors?  It's a learning experience for me.  I'm trying to not just be regretful, but to churn it into something useful. 

He used to pray in the middle of the night when he was so tired.  Fast during the days of Ramadan when he was already malnourished and weeks from dying.  Read Qur'an after fajr when a few winks of sleep would've felt so good.  Go to the masjid for Fajr prayer when he was so dizzy he could hardly drive.  Make tayammum and pray when he was on his death bed and hardly cognizant of what he was saying or doing.  Allah yirhamuh.  That's his legacy to me.  To keep on driving when I want to quit, when I want to sleep, when I want to rest.  My time for sleep will come, but now is my time for action. 

Truly I hope that he has rested in his final sleep.  I miss him so much, and I wish and I wish and I wish, but I shouldn't.  I'm a believer, and I know that my Lord's call is the true call, and his decrees are an article of belief for me.  O Allah, let me grow closer to You in my museeba.  Let me pray for him and meet him again where he is happy to see me, and not embarrassed of my end.  Allahumma ighfir lahu warhamhu ya rabba3alameen. 

Kids and Death

I'm not sure if I followed the right steps with giving my kids the full picture of death, but I let them visit my father in the hospital in his last days, and we let them kiss him good by when he was breathing his last breaths and looked so different than they ever knew him.  We let them say good bye after he'd been washed and was in his kafan.  We did not take them to the burial, but we took them with us yesterday when we visited his grave to say salaam.

They've said things that show they understand his passing, although they might not fully understand it.  Shifaa has said, 'Giddu can't move, he's lying in the box, under the ground, he can only hear us. I miss him, he bought me the video Al Jarra..." 

But today she said something that almost made me cry.  She told my brother, "Where are you going to sleep when Giddu comes back?"  She repeated it twice, not realizing that he isn't coming back.  Allah yirhamuh wa yijama3na beehi filjannah...

Baba Passed Away Oct 2nd

We spent a week in the hospital after my father was admitted on Sept 24th.  It was an agonizing week, and every time I tried to think of possibly writing down his progress, I couldn't.  By Wednesday, I couldn't read, write or think while I sat with him in the hospital.  I was so worried about him.  I want to come back and record as much as I can but in the meantime, here is a quick timeline.

• Friday: Admitted in ER. 
• Saturday: Test after test run.
• Sunday: Seen by a couple docs (Primary Care, Cardiologist, Nephrologist, GI doc and finally, at evening time, oncologist). Up to this point, everyone was saying it was the lymphoma and they couldn't start treating him until the oncologist decided what to do.  We were worried crazy, that they'd just leave him to the lymphoma to choke him up.  The oncologist finally came on Sunday evening, 48 hours after baba was admitted, and turned the tables on us.  It's an infection of the liver, Hepatitis B, that's doing all this.  The lymphoma is in 3rd or 4th place. Even if  you don't treat it for another 3 months while you get the liver in order, you're fine.  Some hope for us!
• Monday: nothing new.  Some albumin to bring down edema.  Didn't do anything. 
• Tuesday:  baba is still walking to the bathroom, although it's a struggle, nothing has changed and they haven't given him anything new that we know of.  Stupid primary care doctor tells us, "You want to start chemo now when you've waited for four years?!" (she said this sunday, actually).  Baba tells a physical therapy doctor friend of his, "It's getting harder," when he asks how he's doing today. *tears*
• Wednesday morning: Asks us to bring his bills for the month. We spend an hour and a half with him fully alert telling us what to do, where to write the bill, how to balance the check book, etc.  He tries to move himself up in bed, but his body has become so heavy, he's unable to adjust himself in bed.  He asks to use bathroom, and we tell him to wait it out, let his body rest (*tears* little did we know he wouldn't be able to get up on his own after this). 
• After this my mom, sister and kids leave.  Baba starts praying, but towards end of the prayer, he slips into a sleep that is weird.  He's sitting up, his eyes roll up into his head and he stays that way for twenty minutes.  I start crying and balling and can't control myself.  He finally falls asleep with his eyes closed and stays that way for a couple hours.  I don't know why, but my heart feels something ominous and I can't concentrate on reading Qur'an, going online, doing anything.  
• A nurse/something comes to the door a few hours later and tells me that Nakka (the primary care) has told me about the new plan to move baba to ICU.  What?! I just saw her and she mentioned nothing.  I ask her if we have a choice in this, and she tells me that usually a doctor does what she sees fit.  I tell her that I want time to think about this.  I start calling my siblings, balling, and texting my father's doctor.  I see it as the end. ICU reminds me of how I saw Amu Bashir Allah yirhamuh.  Nakka calls me and tells me that baba is slipping and he needs this.  I don't like listening to her. My siblings tell me to move baba.  Mama starts wailing and saying this is the end and she called Muh and my great aunt to tell them to come b/c baba is dying.  I didnt' realize she would face reality. The GI doctor (a family friend) tells me that it's not the end, there's hope, they started him on hepatitis medicine and if it reaches the point of no hope, he'll let me know.  I get a bit of hope, put on a strong face and tell my dad that they're moving him to ICU, and inshaAllah it'll be temporary till he gets better.  He says, "No, I don't want to be moved. There are no private bathrooms there."
• Ammu Dawood arrives, alhamdulillah, after I text him that baba is doing worse and hangs out with us while they move baba to CV-ICU (b/c they didn't have beds in medical ICU).  It's good to have someone there during this time.  Baba can't move at all by this time.  But I now have some hope b/c of the GI doc's words.
• During quick moments when Abu Hamda was moving baba to ICU, he ordered NPO (no food or drink).  I questioned this.  He told me baba  is becoming more encephalatic, and they feared he'd forget how to swallow and choke on water or food, which would be dangerous.  I know he is not at  that point yet, and am angry.
• He's not allowed to drink or eat anything, not even put on an IV for next 20 hours.  Only ice chips.  Poor baba.  He can't understand why, neither can we.  After this, he completely loses his appetite. 

• Thursday:  A few docs come in and say baba's liver and kidney numbers are a little down (good thing) although still abnormally high.  We have greater and greater hope.  Alhamdulillah. It'll be a long road to recovery, but it'll happen.  Then a critical care doctor comes in and tells baba to his face:"You don't have much longer to live."  This is the first doctor to say it.  Baba takes it to heart, and maryam feels a need to let baba know that all those doctors know nothing and he will get better.  Baba says, "So why is he telling me that I'll die?"  Baba starts giving us his wasaya.  Maryam and I tell him, you'll be fine.  We don't give him much of a chance to think it out and tell us.  He reminds us to pick up his last check from his work, but we don't want to deal with the ppl who fired my father and expect him to walk in from his deathbed to sign a check before they give it to him.  Baba insists.  We take the number of the HR guy down.  
• Baba is talking clearly today when the stupid doctor walks in. We complain of the NPO (no food rule) and they allow him to have clear liquids and then start increasing his diet.  He drinks and eats a bit.  But by end of day, stops wanting anything. 
• Muhammed arrives.  Baba calls Saif, Mo and I and starts giving us wasaya.  "Lama yigee il wafaah...".  He's seriously thinking of this doctor's words.  I want to hear what he has to say.  I don't know if it will affect his spirits.  he talks a little and then Saif reminds him that he needs to record everything and to put my mom's name on house deed in order for it to be approved in Virginia.  
• Baba has a great nurse who picks him up and puts him on a bedside commode every time he expresses the need.  He's exhausted after the effort.  
• During one of these moments, a nutritionist comes and asks me what baba likes to eat.  She tells me that his most recent weight is 109 lbs.  I'm shocked.  
• They start him on a clear liquid diet and progress.  But baba has lost his appetite and wants no more than  a few sips of water, and what we beg him to swallow.  
• Thursday looks like a better day.  The doctors tell us that numbers are better. Maybe things will slowly improve. 
• 6 pm rolls around and baba asks me to put in his hearing aids.  "People start visiting at this time," he says cheerfully.  I want to cry.  At 6:30 they'll close the doors for visiting and he'll be left alone again.  *tears*.  
• 8 pm nurse comes in and starts asking routine questions, "What's your name? DOB? Where are you?"  I hate it when they do this, and baba has rebelled in the past.  Today he answers, a little sheepishly, taking a few seconds longer.  She tells him it's ok, if you don't know, I'll help you along.  I want to cry. 
• When she leaves, he calls me to his side and asks me to recite Al Fatiha.  I laugh a bit. "Al Fatiha?"  I'm thinking my typical response to Baba's silly questions, 'O, Baba.'  But not today.  I get alarmed, and realize something different is happening.  I put my hand on his forehead, feel his dried skin and the blood pulsing so strongly through his head.  I read Al Fatiha.  Then he asks me to recite Al Ikhlas.  I'm still racking my brains trying to understand what he wants.  Maybe he wants to hear the evening athkar.  So instead of Ikhlas, I start reading Ayat Al Kursi.  He stops me, "No, Al Ikhlas."  I read it, keeping my hands on his beloved head.  Then he says, "Read me a rak'a from prayer."  I start freaking out b/c he's used words that don't really make sense.  He insists and says it again.  So I start reciting what we say when we make ruku'.  This is what he wants.  I figure that perhaps I am leading him in prayer, and start reciting the rest of what we would say in prayer.  Once I finish the sujood recitation (or was it tashahud?) I start doing it all over again, completing the second rak'a of prayer.  But he stops me.  "That's it," he motions.  "Shukran."
• I walk out of the room shaken to my core.  He's losing his memory and he realizes it.  He's testing himself.  He has a glimpse of what it's like not to know what you're saying.  He's reassuring himself he still remembers salah.  My siblings and tens of visitors are waiting in the waiting room, laughing, conversing.  I can't stand it.  "Go lead baba in prayer now, Saif.  He's waiting for you."  I'm scared.  The doctors have been hinting that he'll lose his cognizance, but seeing it with my own eyes is so hard.
• I go home Thursday night happy that I get one more weekday with my father, by myself.  
• to be contd'.
• 8 pm visitors start coming in droves.  Baba is tired, but smiles and tries to say a few words.  He keeps on talking in