Oh, My Dear

It’s something I am terrified of. It’s something that I detest. It’s something that makes me sad. Every-time I see this act being committed, I silently ask God to save us.It’s about living life, giving birth, doing everything for your children, sacrificing your heart and soul to see them grow up to be good Muslims, successful humans. All your family members are around you. They depend on you. They are all you live for.

Then you grow old. You can’t look after yourself properly. You look at the mirror and wonder how the years passed by so quickly. Your children have moved on, which is fine because that’s how life goes. And your husband has passed away. It’s now you and the mirror that you are left alone with. The mirror that reminds you that nothing stays the same, except God.

Your children get married and live in their own homes. They start to find it a burden to visit you. Their wives or husbands also find it a burden when you stay in their homes for a few days.

No one wants you.

But they won’t let you live alone. You can hardly do anything for yourself anymore. You slipped in the bathroom last week and the pain has weakened your back and knees. It still hurts when you sit down.

While you sit on your prayer mat, your children are deciding how you will live the remainder of your days.

SubhanAllah. It was you who used to plan their lives. They were the ones who were dependent on you. Now the roles have reversed.

Everyone is too busy to look after you. They do have their own lives. No one is prepared to have you live with them. So the inevitable happens.

They send you to a nursing home. Against your will, they tell you its for your own good. You feel let down by the people you gave your life to. You believe you can live on your own, you can still walk around slowly. But your children don’t see it that way.

You sit in a small room. It is your new bedroom. Next door there are other bedrooms like yours. Filled with women around your age. It is a nice place, but you don’t want to be there. You want to be with your loved ones, you want to be in a home that is yours. The home that has so many memories for you.

They promise to visit you every day. You look forward to these visits. But they become less frequent. Slowly it becomes months until you see them again. The grandchildren don’t really know who this old woman is and why they have to visit her on the weekend.

Slowly a year passes by and it is only in Ramadan when they remember you. Your heart has already broken, but it breaks again. But you make excuses for your children, you see the best in them, you know they are busy, like you once were.

You are forgotten. Discarded. The hadith about the Prophet asking a man not to go to battle and instead looking after his old parents would be considered a jihad, runs through your head from time to time. If only your children knew of this, you think. You believe you wouldn’t be a burden. You are a quiet person, you’ll be out of the way, in your room, reading the Qur’an, praying, sleeping. And you won’t eat a lot, your appetite has decreased considerably over the years. You can even talk to your grandchildren, teach them some of the wisdom and experiences you have had throughout your years. Maybe they could learn something from your life.

Everyday you look at the door, imagining that your children burst through and take you home, telling you how wrong they were for leaving you in a place like this, all alone, all forgotten. Everyday the doors don’t burst open. Your children do not come anymore.

You feel like a little baby, wishing your parents would come and pick you up, hug you and take you to your safe place.

But it isn’t to be.

You come into this world alone.

And you leave this world alone.

But is it our destiny to spend our last days alone?