‘Cos days zoom by and they bring me one day away from the day that Daddy went to be with the Lord but that isn’t to say that it makes the fateful day a little more hazier than the last. Sometimes, we think we are ready to face certain things but sometimes, we are best left to go through them without knowing what tomorrow has in-store for us. Death is like that; at least that’s what it feels like to me.
I go on a day-to-day motion of filling up my waking hours with activities to avoid getting lost in my own thoughts too often. But when I reach my bed and want to retire for the night, I find myself being kept awake with mindless thoughts; of daddy, of mummy, of life and of everything. I can’t seemed to find a time whereby my brain will be able to switch off the thought processes even if I am already mad tired from the day’s activities.
With love being away in Taiwan for the bulk of Ramadan equates to me coping with grief alone; albeit physically. It’s undeniably painful to go through the loss of a loved one but with each death that I face, I feel that there’s always God to turn to when the going gets tough. I haven’t been a good Muslim despite visiting Makam Habib Noh for some spiritual lift every once a while but when the Ramadan for this year came, I decided to pray and give thanks to God at least twice a day. I didn’t know what spurred me to prostrate to God but I do know that partly the reason was to pre-empt me for what challenge He had lying ahead of me in the days into Ramadan.
I lost grandma in 2009, 5 days into Ramadan and this year, in some twisted statistic, I lost my dearest father 8 days into Ramadan. They say, the people who depart Earth in this holy month are the “special” ones so as much as losing dad is painful, I can seek some consolation that he went on a very holy month. I guess time will heal all wound but this wound of mine will take far longer than any wound that I’ve ever had thus far.