Ahmad’s Muse

Posted by ahmadster at July 25th, 2007

In 1994 my father passed away in my arms. It was Eid, the day after Ramadan. Every Muslim knows that day very well. It is the single most celebrated day in the Muslim tradition. It shouldn’t be that way really since it is also know as the Small Eid. Yes, there is the Bigger Eid. The day after the annual pilgrimage to Mecca. That really should be the bigger celebration but for our human nature. The Small Eid marks the end of a month long state of fasting and reflection. Many Muslims do take advantage of the holy month and pray, read, and remind themselves that it might be their last Ramadan. But for many other Muslims this is just a disruption to their daily routine. So when the fasting and the praying is over they celebrate it with passion. Or at least that’s the story I made up in my head about it. To me and my family, that day has a much different meaning.

Around the end of the Ramadan of 1994 in Saudi Arabia my dad, for some reason, wanted to go traveling to Jeddah and Mecca. We were in Taif at that time and those three cities were about 100 km apart. His diabetes had progressed to the point where his eyesight was too weak for him to drive safely. I jumped at the chance to spend some father-son time with my dad. We set off on a trip together to go where ever he wanted. We spent the next two week hopping from relative to friend to memorable location. Along drives he told me things I had never heard him mention before. Stories about his youth, about his friends, and about life in general. I remember a moment when we just enjoyed listening to “Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen out of all things. The most interesting thing he talked about was a great grandfather of ours who made it his life’s work to collect every kind of musical instrument he could get his hands on. He was an enlightened explorer who journeyed the world and brought back many of its wonders. Sadly, this was frightening to many people. So after he passed away, his collections and library were mostly burned and thrown away. My dad said that with sadness in his voice.

On our way back to Taif, we spend a day at my aunt’s house. He went to the market and bought fresh arabic coffee and dates. He gave them to my aunt and told her it was for Eid. The next morning I got up ready to head home, but I couldn’t find him in the house. He woke up early an went by himself to a Quran reading he used to attend when he was younger in Mecca. I was worried a bit because he fasted every single day during Ramadan. For a diabetic it is perfectly fine to skip the fasting part. But he insisted on performing a full month of fasting. When he came back I was relieved and surprised. He had the biggest smile on his face. He was beaming with happiness that he had the chance to attend one of those readings again. Shortly after that we got in our car and headed back to Taif. “One more small trip please” he said. He wanted to go to the Holy Mosque in Mecca. “It’s the end of Ramadan”, I said, “its extremely overcrowded.” But he insisted and so we went. I was never able to drive up so close to the main gate of the Mosque before but that day it was clear. Our car was the only car in that big white marble expanse. It was a scene like that of the King’s carriage approaching the gate. We walked out of the car and into the heart of the Mosque. I could feel he was very happy to be there. Little did I know that we would both be back in that same spot in a matter of days.

We finally started the trip back to Taif. Taif is at a higher elevation than Mecca and Jeddah. The climate is generally much cooler. That’s where my mom and the rest of our family were. We joined them as they were preparing for the gatherings of Eid. The night before Eid everyone was busy with some last minute shopping. My dad and I were just hanging out together ignoring everyone. My mom walked in and suggested we had better get our clothes ready for the morning. We all got ready and looked our best for the Eid prayer at 5 am. Unfortunately I fell asleep around 4 am. So when it was time to go, I was deep asleep. Everyone in the house left and I stayed in bed. I heard them come home tired and exhausted. My dad laid his head next to mine and went to sleep. During Eid day, at least in Taif, after the early Eid prayer, people go home for a nap then wake up around noon time and start visiting each other. So you generally got to meet folks at least twice that day.

While I was deep in my extended nap, I was shaken up by my mom’s frantic voice. “Wake up!, help me”, she yelled. I couldn’t understand what she wanted but I immediately realized my dad next to me wasn’t looking right. He was confused and unresponsive. My mom was at his right, and I was at his left. I held him and I said “Dad, are you OK?”, but he just closed his eyes and stopped moving. He was absolutely motionless. I slowly noticed that my hand had been gripping at his, but now his hand felt empty. Like an empty glove. At that moment my mom and I looked at each other and dared not say a word. We didn’t want to say it or even think it for fear that if we acknowledged the situation it might come true. The window above his head was open and a breeze of air came in. Nothing made a sound. The silence was broken by the call to noon prayer. And there in my arms, lay my father. The sun was shining on his face as the cool breeze gently waved his hair. Amidst the prayer call to come to God, my mother and I knew he was gone. Still we stood there calming each other. “it must be a coma” I said, my mom nodded her head in agreement. But her eyes had already betrayed her.

When the paramedics arrived, they pronounced him dead. A heart attack. Diabetes had finally got him. That’s when it really hit my mom, she fell to the floor and the paramedics turned their attention to her. It wasn’t easy for her to lose her life long companion, the father of six children. It still isn’t to this day. I on the other hand couldn’t even shed a tear. I had been telling my self for a very long time that this day would come. There is no point in acting all surprised and upset. I guess it was my way of denying my self grief. If I knew that day was coming and prepared for it I had no right to feel grief. That exercise didn’t last long.

The relatives and friends that he met in the morning came back in the afternoon only to be surprised to learn of his death. It feels awkward to meet someone in the morning and find them gone by the afternoon. I kept hearing the words “but I was talking to him this morning” all day long. Our Eid was never going to be the same again. Every Eid, around noon time, my mom and I look at each other. We both remember that moment all too well. I silently say a prayer. I’m sure she does too.

He was born in Mecca, so we decided to bury him there close to his family. Before a Muslim is buried he is taken to a Mosque where all attendants get to make a prayer for him. We went back to the Holy Mosque in Mecca, where he and I stood there only a couple of days earlier. You might have seen the Holy Mosque on TV. It has a black cube at the center of a white marble court. That black cube is called the Kába, it was built by the prophet Abraham and his son. During the holy month of Ramadan and Eid, around 2 million people gather there. They put my dad at the footsteps of the Kába and the whole Mosque stopped for a minute to pray for him.

That night, after the burial, all our friends and relatives went to my aunt’s house in Mecca. She served them fresh arabic coffee and dates.