Reminder Notice: Attn: Me!

14th November 2010, as of 7.15 am marks your entry into the last league of your 4 decades here on Earth. Seeing that you will be going into your half century, here is a good time to post this reminder to you ... for things still undone that need to be done, for things erred that need to be corrected, for dreams that are yet to be fulfilled. 48 years have passed, you are now stepping into your 49th ... how many more yet remaining? Is there time at all left for you?

It is said that a person born at 7.15 am, will get whatever she wishes for if she works hard for it. Crap ...! Everyone and anyone who works hard enough for something he/she really wants, is bound to reap sweet success at one point. But if it were true, are you working hard for the things that you wish for? For the good life here and especially the Hereafter?And when things don’t go your way, do you take the blame upon yourself, or do you start making excuses? 48 years have passed...dont you think it is time you stopped making excuses? No excuses, no justification, no blaming. You have a part in everything that happens around you. Things happen; good or bad, for a reason; not by chance. But it is up to you how you deal with the situations to turn them out for your benefit. It is up to you!

Do you remember when you were in Form One – your English teacher asked all of you to write an essay about your own self? What was it you wrote? You started your essay with “The Ugly Duckling” story in mind. You still remember your first line? It went something like this? “I was born an ugly duckling ...who grew up into ... an ugly duck”. And how you laughed by yourself on your bed in the hostel dormitory then because you just thought it was so hilarious. You were a realist back then, not delusional by fairy tales and fantasies. But that line never made it into your composition book, did it? You went back to the academics; writing what “should” be written; formal and square. You wrote it the way it was expected of you; a student who supposedly took her work seriously.. Well, too many years have since passed. Personally, you should have given that opening line; who knows it could have changed history – your history. At the very least, it would have probably told you and your English teacher that you have a wry sense of humour. (See! you still smirk as you type this).

4.8 decades have lapsed, and next year you enter your half century mark. Surely, those big numbers behind your age is licence in itself for you to be less inhibited and speak your mind now; not necessarily offensively, but with gumption. Its time you do it – speak your mind! There is no more need to be so guarded; you were a realist back then, be a realist now. REMINDER: Speak with love for humanity, speak for the sake of God – your message will come across. Do not be afraid...do not be hesitant anymore. You have lived long enough to have learnt some wisdom along the way. Go for your dream...and be just as focused...age does not matter! You know you have much love for humanity in you, let that be your beacon for success.

See the goodness in mankind. There are good people around you, and there are bad people too. Do not waste your time on the bad; leave them be. Do not hesitate to do good, and trust in God that good will come back your way. It is not important if nobody appreciates you, what is important is that you are blessed by God. Seek HIS Pardon and Mercy at every opportunity you can find. Yes, surely there are regrets throughout these past 48 years; but never ever lose hope and faith in HIM to overlook your faults and regrettable acts. Embrace and face them squarely. What is more important - Be thankful for these 48 years that have passed. Too many priceless experiences that have surely made you the person that you are today...love the person that is within you ...and pray for His Blessings always. Now is a good time as any to renew your vows to yourself, to pursue your dreams, to fulfill your goals. 48 years have been spent, and surely there will not be another 48 more waiting for you. Fastabiqul khairat ...

Be ordinary - exceptionally ordinary :)

And He Turns 14 Today

He is indeed, to me, extraordinary in so many ways. My specialist, Dr. Marlik told me that I could go for another child before I reach 35 after I got my big boy at 31. And so, my “anak ummi” was born at on a very extraordinary moment.....11th day of the 11th month at 11 pm – just 3 days before I finally turned 35 ... 14 years ago.

Having already lost 2 boys previously, I was allowed only these two. So, since my big boy’s name starts with an A, it seemed only natural to me, that this young one would have a name which starts with a Z. (thus covering all the letters of the alphabet). And just like his big brother, I wanted his name to be an inspiration in itself to him. I wanted this second child of mine to be intelligent, thus the name Zakiy, which also carries the meaning, witty. Whereas big brother showed potential in being very perceptive to knowledge, I wanted this young one to be quick in lending a helping hand, par excellent in kind deeds, thus Mohsin came about. And so, following the tradition of his brother’s name, he was another Ahmad Tiga Nama – AHMAD ZAKIY MOHSIN – the witty, intelligent, par excellent one!

Zakiy is indeed my miracle baby. His was supposed to be a caesarean delivery, but somehow my labour pains came earlier than expected, and since by that time, I was under the supervision of another specialist, Dr. Fatimah, she suggested that I went ahead with a normal delivery. Alhamdulillah, my baby Zakiy did not give me much problems at all. And since it was a normal delivery, my sheer happiness to see the cringed face of my still purplish son was slightly dampened when the matron cried out to the nurse, “Remove the baby from the mother ... don’t let her breastfeed him.” My life long steroid medication did not allow either of my 2 boys to be breastfed. But once again, Alhamdulillah, I think we have proven that even though on formulae, we still can have bright, intelligent and good children ...its not really just the issue of mother’s milk, or bottled formula; but more on the nurturing and care that we give. And since I knew my boys would never have the privilege of being breastfed, I was even more vigilant in spending private moments with them during their feeding hours – looking into their eyes and smiling at them and holding them in my arms at every feeding session.

On one occasion, I bathed my baby Zakiy when I was at the end of my confinement. Much to my horror, just above his upper lip, was a tiny scar – the telltale sign of ‘hare-lip’ formation that had not developed. Immediately my initial shock of horror turned to sheer gratitude and the feeling of utmost relief completely overwhelmed me. Taking my baby Zakiy out of the bathroom, I placed him on the bed and immediately performed the Sujud Syukur – the prostration of Gratitude to God! You see, being on lifelong steroid medication, a major worry for mother such as me was to have a hare-lipped child due to the steroids. It was obvious in his foetal development, Zakiy was beginning to form a harelip, but indeed it is the Will of Allah and His Will Alone, that the harelip condition never developed except as a scar. My baby Zakiy is a miracle to me indeed!!! Allah be praised!

And this miracle, extraordinary baby of mine turns 14 today. I don’t care what others think, but to me he has been a very handsome baby who has grown into a very handsome, tall and lanky young man, with a most disarming smile ... melts my heart every time. And yes, at 14, the shadow of a moustache covers up his scar just nicely. He is left handed, and so I know that the way he learns things around him is very different from his right handed brother. Zakiy learns things as a whole -looking at the whole picture first to understand things around him. Even as a child his sense of observation has been acute. You can count on him not to miss the minor details that everyone else seems to overlook. Even as a child, he is less reserved and socialises more easily than his big brother. As a child, he would introduce himself as, “Saya Akiy Owin (Zakiy Mohsin). Saya yang tak pandai, abang yang pandai.” Why would he say that?

From an unfortunate incident during his kindergarten days. Being a left handed child, his learning behaviour would never be the same as a right-handed child. And somehow, in the early part of his kindie days, he simply could not go beyond the number 3 (because he was not shown the whole picture about the concept of numbers). No matter what the teacher did, he could not go beyond 3. That was when the headmistress called me up and suggested (much to my chagrin) that Zakiy might have a learning disability, and that perhaps I might have him removed because the kindie only catered for children who can already count. What??? My baby was 3 years old and he was enrolled in readiness class, to give him exposure to socialising and learning the basics. I refused to accept my Zakiy had learning ability. What I know for sure, the kindie was not prepared to serve my baby’s unique ability to learn things. So, feeling rather challenged by the suggestion, I pulled him out from the kindie. My baby did not deserve to be treated as such. Immediately, putting everything else on hold, I enrolled him onto “Ummi’s kindie”. I showed him the bigger picture about numbering, and went on to teach him about individual numerical. Allah be praised, true enough, within one week he was up to 100 and even writing the numbers down.

But Zakiy being the Witty One, would in all simplicity tell anyone who asked back then, that he was the first kid to be expelled from a kindergarten because he could not go beyond 3. My sweet simple Zakiy.

True, he may not be as gifted as his brother Ilman, but Zakiy surely does not have learning difficulties. He too followed his big brother’s footsteps as the Primary School Head Prefect, and whatever his big brother achieved in his primary days, my baby Zakiy equalled him too. And I am proud of him always.

But no matter what his academic achievements are, my baby Zakiy will forever be someone special and a unique individual to me. Today, he is the one I can surely count on to make me Ice blended Vico when I am tired. He is the one who will bounce into the kitchen when I am preparing something and asks “Ada apa2 Adik boleh tolong?” He is the one , who up until today who will come up to me for a good night peck on the cheeks and shakes and kisses my hands. He is the one who will not have second thoughts to put his hands into mine as we walk the streets, and will not mind the slightest if I kiss him in public.

And today he turns 14 – nearly as tall as his big brother, slim built and with a most charming smile. He has become a shy teenager, and much to my surprise, his playfulness as a child has not deterred him from turning into a teenager very aware of his duties to Allah, and whilst he had some difficulties reciting the Quran as a child, he can quotes verses from the Quran by heart today. Allah bless him. He is resilient and adventurous and I am proud to see his keen sense of trying to do things by himself. It is difficult to find days that he offends me.

Perhaps an essay he wrote when he was in Form One describes my baby’s nature. In an impromptu essay writing competition, Zakiy had to write on The Best Gift. He wrote “...the best gift in my life is the gift of love from my mother.” It won him first prize.. .and tears of appreciation from this mother who is so touched by his words of love and gratitude for his Ummi.

From as a child he calls himself, “Anak Ummi”. Now that he is a young teenager, he is slowly phasing out to “Adik”. Well Akiy Owin, no matter how many years you add to your age, you will always be my baby, my Anak Ummi. I was doubly blessed when you were born, looking like Richard Gere when you were a young boy, and then like the French footballer, Andre in your late primary days.

Your Ummi can only offer my doa for your success in life. Every time you hug me just because you feel like it, my heart soars with love for you. Everytime you say “Thanks Ummi” in gratitude for some need of yours that I have obliged, my heart sings with pride at your politeness and respect for me. Each time that you smile and laugh eases my burden and tears away my weariness. Every night that you ask for a good night kiss from me makes me feel so blessed that Allah has given me you.

And so Zakiy, on this 14th birthday of yours, I want to say thank you for being a good son. Thank you for those times that I sought your comfort too and you understood. Thank you for making me a proud mother because you are an obedient servant of God.

I pray that your passage in life will be blessed. I pray that you will turn out to be a successful Muslim, a fastidious individual working in the path of Allah. And when I am gone, I pray that both you and your brother will honour me by carrying me to my final abode. Do me this honour, Zakiy.

Happy Birthday Anak Ummi!

ABAH

If he was alive, today would mark his 95th birthday. Born on 27/10/1915, I was only a part of his life for 30 years – enough for me to have my own memories of Abah, and to share with my boys.

As the 10th of his 11 children with Mak, I was the first one to be born in a hospital. By sheer Will of Allah, I was born naturally dark, unlike my other siblings who mostly take after Mak and were born very fair (exception being big brother Agong and I). My siblings, from when I was a young child, would then tease me, saying I was accidentally mixed up with their real sister, and since the name tag on my wrist was misplaced, they said Mak had to wait for the last child to be picked up, and so presume I was Mak’s baby. Although it used to hurt me when I was a child, but Abah would come to my rescue. You see, I inherited Abah’s wide jaw, and as such my teeth were like Abah’s – widely spaced apart. So every time someone makes a claim that I am adopted, Abah would say, “Nope, you are my daughter...see we share the same teeth”. Thank you Abah! (alas, even if indeed I was adopted, Alhamdulillah, for I get the best parents and the best family anyone could hope for...and even more..I am a Muslim – but naaah...I am not adopted!!!)

Abah was a teacher, a strict one too. His voice was loud, even though he was not that tall. He did have a temper of course (runs in almost all his children), but as far as I can recall, I hardly got any ticking off by him. Even though my elder sisters and brothers would recount memories of “Abah yang garang”, I think he mellowed somewhat with his younger children, for the only time he was not pleased with me, a knuckle on the head was all I got from him. I don’t know how he was as a teacher (perhaps I should ask Othman Marsup, my ex school mate who was his student), but I remember times when I was in Std 3, and Abah was in his final year of teaching, I would help him mark his students’ Maths papers. I remember also, when Abah got home on his bicycle from school, another sibling and I would be eager to take off his socks only for the reward of drinking the hot drink in his thermos flask which he brought to school every morning, and brought back home untouched. (I wonder now if he purposely did it, knowing how we enjoyed drinking from his thermos flask then...).

The day would always start early with Abah – the early morning march hymns on the radio announcing that he was up and about (until today, the tune comes very easily to mind...invigorating tunes that would wake you up). Otherwise, it would be the Arab songs. (or were they actually qasidah?...must check with brother Apek ). Then off he would cycle to school way in Bukit Kuda Klang until he returned in the afternoon, which by that time I would have walked home from MGS too. After lunch, it would be a must for him to lie down on the sofa and read the newspaper.

Abah was a sportsman, in my younger days I would often see him sport the football referee uniform for a football match. He was a renowned referee, from the trophies he brought home. But that is as far as I know of his refereeing days; my brothers would know more on that.

Abah retired when I was in Std 3. That year he said that if I got first position in class he would buy me whatever I wanted as a prize. During that time, I was always borrowing arwah Nordin’s mini bike; whenever he came to play football with big brother Apek, 3 years my senior. So naturally, that was what I asked for..and that year, was the first time I got 1st position in class ... and got my mini bike – state of the art bike at that time, with gears to change speed. (I guess giving external positive reinforcements to young children works; until they are big enough to appreciate the more effective internal reinforcements). When Abah retired, he finally got himself a car, a white beetle fiat, where the door open backwards. By that time, we had moved out to Pandamaran, and I was still in MGS, in Std 5, whilst big brother Agong was in ACS Secondary, just next door to MGS. Abah would send us both to school and fetched us in the afternoon. And on Fridays, they would both go off to Masjid Sultan Sulaiman for the solat Jumaat, whilst I would wait in the car. Those were the most productive days of my life I think. I recall, it was whilst waiting for them to finish praying, that I developed this habit of saying my thoughts out loud – daydreaming aloud is more like it.

Abah was a literary man as far as I could remember. He had so many things to talk about, and I must say his conversations were often captivating. Up until his old age, people liked to come and visit him just to hear him talk on all matters. And so I remember, when I was only 9 or 10, for my birthday he bought me the book, Hikayat Hang Tuah as a birthday gift. No ...it wasn’t a story book; it was a literary discourse on the legend Hang Tuah, a book used by form 6 students! I loved the book! (Thats why I remember it till today). When Abah bought this house to settle here in Andalas (where most of us are now), the housing area was called Ladang Tremelbye. As the first UMNO leader in this housing area, he renamed it Taman Sri Andalas, after a Malay classic legend I believe; and the name stays till today. (with road names as Sri Sarawak, Sri Damak, Sri Mersing, Sri Siantan, Sri Sedeli). Although he was active politically in UMNO, he was a fair man. As I grew up, and when I returned from my studies, I never got round to seeing eye to eye with him on this matter. I remember clearly (and I hold to this day), Abah telling me, “It does not matter if you are not in this team. Choose that which you believe in, but I want you to be aware of and seriously fight for whatever you choose for this country”. Since then, once, when he lost in the local votes for head of our housing area, I felt sorry for him, for I knew he was a true man fighting for what he believed in. (Thank God he didn’t live to see the chaos his party is in now).

On the same note, I remember when I was in Std 6, I was the recipient of 4 awards on the school Prize Giving Day. Abah had decided to come, and since the District Officer knew him, the latter honoured him to sit beside him. I came up on stage 4 times to receive my award; dressed in my “samseng attire” for a role I was to play later in the school play. That in itself attracted the audience attention, with my false moustache, rolled sleeved shirt and pants rolled up on one side to my knees. Each time I came down the stage, I could see Abah smiling and grinning away. Later he told me that the person sitting next to him had asked, “Whose daughter is that, to receive the most award?” and Abah told me, “Abah pun jawblah...anak sayalah!”. The pride when he said that, the smile, the gleam in his eyes...was what became the burning flame in my heart and soul, to always make Abah proud of me. And today, now that I am a parent myself, I know exactly what he felt when my boys go upstage to receive their best student awards, when the very same thing happened to me, and someone asked if they were my boys. I am glad, if there is no service at all I have done for Abah, I have surely made him proud at that moment. Feeling nostalgic now....

My only regret was that years later, when I was diagnosed as having kidney failure, I had called Abah from England to tell him that. Little did I know that not long after that, he slowly lost use of his legs and finally had to end in crutches and later in a wheelchair. Throughout my kidney problem days, he was a staunch supporter. When the doctors told me I could only drink half a cup of water per day, it was he who suggested that the syrup drink be made into ice cubes so that I can sip on them throughout the day, much to my delight. When my donor sister Oni and I were due for our renal transplant surgery, Abah made a “doa selamat” makan2 for us with all the family members. After the transplant, when he came to visit me in the ICU, he could only watch me from outside the glass pane, tears steraming down his cheeks whilst he desperately tried to master a cheerful laugh. For a stern and loud man, he had a very sensitive soul and would cry at his children’s hardships. Every 1st aidil fitri morning was an ordeal for us to get through when we would all line up to seek forgiveness from him and Mak...and then he would break out in tears, and we would all be hard pressed to hold back our own tears.

Abah passed away on 27th November 1991, just 13 days after my 30th birthday. On that last birthday, I was busy moving back to Klang from PJ. A lot of money was needed in shifting house, and on that last birthday with him, Abah gave me RM10 as a birthday present. He said, “ you will need it when you need it”. Then Abah asked my age, and I told him. He stared at me before he said, “Abah asyik panggil kau Adik, ruponyo kau dah gaik yo!” and we laughed.

Mak used to lament my not having any children after my kidney transplant and wished outloud that it would be nice even if I had only one child. Abah used to chide her and told her to say this instead, “Sorang DULU pun jadilah...” Once Abah told me, out of the blues, that I would have a child when he is gone.

My son, Ahmad Ashraf Ilman was born on 28th August, 1992, exactly 9 months after Abah’s demise. Coincidence? I never believe in coincidence...everything happens for a reason, for a purpose, by His Will in which only He knows the wisdom of. No, to me personally, it was no coincidence my son was born exactly 9 months after Abah passed away – it was his doa come true...for this daughter of his.

We all love you Abah...myself, Zul, Ashraf and yes, his little brother Zakiy too. May your soul be blessed and may you be placed amongst the pious and close to HIM. We pray we have not disappointed you and we pray you are pleased to have us as your children. We know you loved us Abah!

Al Fatihah buat Abah: HJ Abd Manaf bin Haji Hussain (Cikgu Manaf)

27/10/1915 -27/11/1991

abah n mak.

He Is A Young Man Now - My Noble Knowledgeable One

In 1992, I stayed the final two months of my pregnancy at the hospital because the doctor wanted to make sure everything was under control at the last trimester. He was due for a C-section on 2/9/1992, but he was eager to see the world. And so on this day, 28/8/1992, my son Ahmad Ashraf Ilman was born at 12.47 am, a Friday, 28th of Safar, 1413

He opened his eyes the moment his father recited the azan in his ear. Yes he was familiar to his father’s voice. The nurse in the ward gave him a pinch – he was so active in the womb that it was always difficult to keep track of his heartbeat with the device for tracking fetal heartbeat. When he was born, all the Manaf motley crew waited outside the gates of the Kuala Lumpur General Hospital...and when he was born, his father, when asked what name was he to have, shouted out, “Ahmad Tiga Nama”.

Yes, from the very moment I knew he was to be a boy, I was diligently thinking of a meaningful muslim name, a name which he could carry and realise. I wanted him to be the very best in knowledge and who practices the most outstanding moral qualities with his knowledge. And his father , who studied Arabic found this name – ASHRAF ILMAN (NOBLE FOR HIS KNOWLEDGE) and AHMAD to emulate our beloved prophet Muhammad s.a.w. Hence, Ahmad Tiga Nama!

ALHAMDULILLAH, Allah answered our prayers for this son. He was talking quite fluently even before he learned to walk....”big lorry, small lorry”. Every time he dropped his little comfort pillow, I would tell him to pick it up, and soon after that whenever he wanted that pillow, he would ask for his ‘pick-it-up’ which soon became a household word. (his grandma called it Acap’s Kitab, learning the word by ear).

One time, when he was 2, he asked his great grandmother to please retrieve his ball under the bed. The poor old woman, God bless her, struggled to bend down to reach out to the ball under the bed. He looked at her, and handed her the cane. “You don’t have to bend, just fork it out with this cane, Unyang’.

Ashraf loved listening to me reading bedtime stories to him ... of the life of the Holy Prophet and his sahabah. As I read to him almost every night without fail, he would look at the words and ask questions. He never learnt the alphabet. At 3, he complained why it was that Ummi could speak English and he couldn’t. I thought he was ready for school, so off he went to his first kindie – Jack and Jill; enrolled him in the readiness class. And then I got pregnant with his younger brother and had to be admitted, our first separation. The next day he came to visit me with his aunt and the latter told me, “Do you know your son can read?” I was stunned, and showed him the newspaper ... and he started reading slowly but surely.

“How did you learn how to read, Acap?” I asked truly amazed. His answer still rings in my ear.

“Every time you read to me, I look at the words and then I knew what the letters sound like.” Allah has blessed this child and from that moment, it was my top priority in life to make sure my son did not lose this gift by Allah. After that began his exceptional thirst for reading. He read whatever books he could get his hands on. On day he followed me for my maternity check up and he saw the diagram of the female reproductive system. In all simplicity he exclaimed, “I know this – the uterus”. Even I was taken aback at how advanced he was. For that remark he got a pinch from the nurse there; yet again.

To balance his knowledge input, I personally tutored him in Quran recitation. Knowing he has very powerful memory, I encouraged him to memorise the simpler surahs. It was easy for him, provided he was not tired. At six, he requested to learn more of the Quran, so we sent him to a private Islamic school. Upon registration, he was given the set of books written in Jawi. Later in the evening, he looked worried and I asked him why.

“I cant read these, I don’t know the alphabets.” So I tried my best to show what the jawi alphabets sounded like. By 9 pm, I had to put his younger brother to bed, so I told him to prepare for bed too. He told me he would do it in a while. At 11 pm, I was awaken by a very excited Ashraf.

“Ummi, I know how to read this now,” and proceeded to show me what he has achieved.He was reading the book fairly fluently. From that moment on, I knew my son was a self-assessed learner. Alhamdulillah.

He has surprised me numerous times when he was a child. When I was sick, he took my hand and he was soon busy uttering words which I could not quite make out. When I asked him what he was reading, he answered simply, “Ayat Kursi Ummi.” I paid attention; it was indeed the ayat Kursi...he was hardly 6 at that time. By the time he was 7, he started fasting, and I believe up to this day, he has only missed one day of fasting.

One day when he was 5, he came home from school complaining that his kindie teacher had kissed him. I asked him why.

“We were playing outside the school and my friends started to pick the flowers. It is not nice to pick the flowers from the stem right Ummi, coz you said flowers are important to produce new plants right Ummi? So I told my friends not to hurt the plant and then suddenly the teacher kissed me,” he said looking a bit puzzled.

At another time, when he was 6, he returned from school and told me he would have to quit the kindergarten. Taken by surprise, I asked him why.

“My teacher said those in Express class must not waste time during break. So she said we must walk in the kitchen, just drink while standing and walk out again. I cant do that Ummi. I am a Muslim, and muslims sit down properly when drinking, right?” The next day I went off to the kindie and spoke to Mrs Nadarajah. Ashraf did not have to quit school.

At one point in his young years, I noticed Ashraf was not eating well. He was a chubby child who normally enjoyed his food. Yet I could see the yearning in his eyes when he looked at his brother’s meal. I decided to find out why. His answer?

“My ustaz says that we should eat only when we are hungry and stop before we are full,” he said earnestly. O my poor baby. Once again the very next day I went to his Islamic school to talk to the ustaz. I don’t know what the ustaz told him, but soon he was eating normally again, Alhamdulillah.

Alhamdulillah, I believe he has grown up to be a good, trustworthy Muslim young man, playing his role as a leader wherever he goes, as I have prayed for him every day. He is a man, and therefore he must know how to be a leader. Alhamdulillah, I believe he is carrying his name well, for I can see he is well liked and respected by his friends, teachers and relatives. And he is still doing well in his studies. Alhamdulillah, he has grown to be an obedient son, and now, I am learning a lot about Islam from him, for which I am so grateful for.

Alhamdulillah, I see also the stubborn streak in him (wondering where he might have inherited it from [tongue in cheek]); for this stubborn streak, although at times riles me up, but has put him in good stead against those who antagonise him. Alhamdulillah, his insatiable love and zeal for knowledge has made him one who appreciates learning, and puts him at an advantage in his studies. Ashraf learns for the love of knowledge I know, not solely for the sake of exams. Alhamdulillah, he is closely attached to his faith in Allah, and that he sets a good example to his younger brother. Alhamdulillah, he is a good son, for I know he is studying to get a place in the medical faculty because it is his Ummi’s wish to see him become a doctor.

Ashraf is not a handsome boy, he is dark and stern looking (wondering yet again who has taken after); he does not know much how to socialise and he is sometimes emotional. He can be quite forgetful, misplacing things and never remembers to hang his towel. He has only just learnt how to fold and wash his own clothes. He is hardly a sportsman.

Yet for as long as he is true to his faith, for as long as he strives to be the best, for as long as he remembers his duties to God, to his parents and family, to his studies, inshaallah I can live with his weaknesses too.

And today, he celebrates his 18th birthday. Happy Birthday my beloved son, AHMAD ASHRAF ILMAN – the one made noble for his knowledge. THANK YOU FOR BEING IN MY LIFE..THANK YOU FOR BEING MY SON. I AM TRULY BLESSED. YOU HAVE MADE ME THE RICHER IN LIFE AND I PRAY ...THE HEREAFTER TOO.

I LOVE YOU ALWAYS AND FOREVER ASHRAF ...YOU HAVE MY BLESSINGS!

After 22 years

After 22 years post transplant and on steroids and immunosuppressant, I now have

Osteoporosis,

Cirrhosis of the liver,

Bleeding problems,

Low haemoglobin count,

Hypertension,

Sebaceous hyperplasia.

That is a lot to contend with in my 49th year of life.

If not for the kidney failure I had to endure prior to those 22 years, I would not have known the meaning of patience and to surrender to the Will of God, would not have experienced sabar and redha when things just get beyond my control, would not have known how to endure pain and to be in a state so helpless that there is no one, absolutely no one you can turn to except HIM, and you raised your hand in supplication, asking as if your life depended on it, with the full realisation that what it is you prayed for, only HE can answer.

If not for this training in endurance, then after 22 years post transplant, I would not be able to

Wake up in the morning and say ‘Alhamdulillah

Be able to go to bed at night and say ‘Alhamdulillah’

Eat most foods that are to my liking and say ‘Alhamdulillah

Feel the wind in my face as I drive (and drift) and say Alhamdulillah.

Perform my favourite passion – teaching and say Alhamdulillah

Kiss my mother whenever I meet her and say a special Alhamdulillah for this

Quietly endure all the above state of health condition I am in now and say Alhamdulillah

But most of all ... to have my two beautiful, obedient and intelligent A-Z sons, Ashraf and Zakiy to take up my genes and hopefully carry my legacy, and to motivate me to keep on moving ahead with my life. My gratitude to HIM for these 2 wonderful lives are beyond words.

So, with all these good things in life I have with me right now, all this boon from Allah, what are a few discomforts of the body, right? I am eternally grateful to Allah for HIS gift of renewed faith and belief in HIM. And I accept the misfortune that has befallen me today. To me they are gentle nudges to remind me from time to time where I have just been through and keep me back in track.

What did not kill me, has made me stronger ... in mind if not physically. I believe I am a better person because of what happened to me 22 years ago. I know, even if not much, that I am a person of substance ... and for that I say Alhamdulillah.

These past 22 years have been a new lease of life for me ... a second chance. And just to be blessed to wake up to a new beginning every morning, is for me one of life’s greatest miracles.

And so I have been asking myself, for the past 22 years ...

“Fa bi aiyyi aala irabbikuma tukazziban..”

“Then which of the favours of your Lord will ye deny? Surah Ar Rahman, 55:13

19/08/1988 – has given me a new definition to life....Alhamdulillah!

ESRD & I - The Beginning of the End

CHAPTER 5

Throughout 1986, after the termination of my pregnancy, every appointment to the doctors at the Kuala Lumpur Hospital brought the same news. My kidneys were progressively deteriorating. The doctors were just waiting for my condition to get to the terminal stage, ESRD - End Stage Renal Disease; before they could start any plans for me. The downward spiral to that end was inevitable.

Nothing much was being done. I guess nothing much could have been done. I was given mainly “Alutabs” to curb the gastric like pains I was having; but that was about it really. I got fed up and decided by myself, not to continue with my appointments. To my clouded mind then, I had done my part when the doctors told me to terminate my pregnancy. I guess I tricked myself into believing that once the termination was done, I would get better; the kidneys would be well again.

And so, when the date came for my appointment to make plans as to what plan of action I was to proceed with, I played truant. Without telling a single soul, not even my husband, I tagged along my brothers and sisters and their families to Malacca to send off my eldest niece for registration at ITM Melaka. (Since then it has become tradition for us to convoy when sending off nieces and nephews for further study). Nobody knew then my condition was actually fast deteriorating. To be with the crowd; together with family members boosted my happy hormones endorphins. I was cheerful and felt good all around.

Unfortunately that was not to be long lasting. Not long after that, just prior to the Chinese New Year celebration in early 1987, what may appear as unfortunate incidents happened which led me back to the hospital. I would say that they were blessings in disguise. The first one was my sudden crave for durian. Durian is an absolute “no-no” for ESRD patients. High in potassium, it can almost certainly slow down an already enlarged heart due to water retention from kidney failure. I knew that for a fact even back then, but I guess I was adamant. I wonder now if I was purposely trying to end my miseries throwing all caution to the wind. Nothing was coincidental in life; everything has a purpose. I did not know how I managed to sweet talk my husband into buying the most delicious tasting durian for me; with its thick sweet succulent content. I think I took about 3 pieces to quench my craving; after which I remember distinctly feeling queasy and a little queer. I had trouble breathing – I could feel my heart was beating progressively slower; almost laboured. All I could do was lie down and so I went to bed early that night. We lived the simple life then; just a mattress, no bed. And as I lie down beside my husband that night, it felt as if my time was up. I could hardly feel a heartbeat. So I just crossed my arms over my chest, closed my eyes, mouthed the kalimah syahadah and quietly accepted my fate, whatever it might be. I know until today, my husband never knew that I was preparing myself for death that night. I guess I must have passed out after that.

I was awoken the next morning by my husband’s shuffling around as he prepared for work. I was still alive, I concluded gratefully. My heartbeat had returned somewhat to normal count, although very faintly. As I tried to get up, I realised I was still too weak to even stand up. It took all the strength I had to do my 2-rakaat subh prayer. Walking my husband to the door was out of the question. Thankfully he understood.

I continued resting on my mattress, dozing off from time to time. At 11 am, the postman came and honked his motorbike. I got up to get the mail. To my horror, I found out that it became the most laborious task just to walk that few metres to the front gate and back. That was when I panicked. I weighed only 33 kg then, yet my legs could hardly carry me! My heartbeat was terribly slow, refusing to beat any faster. I felt light headed, spinning almost. I knew I was heading towards the end.

When my husband returned in the afternoon, I voiced out my anxiety; careful to avoid mentioning that I felt like dying. I did not want to hear myself say it aloud – maybe deep in my heart, I was just not ready to go yet. I requested to be sent to my sister’s house in Damansara Utama. It must have been the most correct decision I have ever made – for two reasons. That very evening my husband sent me off to my sister’s house. He stayed the night, and the next morning went off to work from my sister’s house.

The next evening, I got a call from my husband from home. In a rather anxious voice, he informed me that our house was broken into and that we had been robbed. All praise be to Allah! I cannot imagine now what would have happened to me if I was in the house when the burglar got in. The sheer shock could have meant the end for me! All our things from UK which were still in boxes were taken, my watch, all my husband’s shirts (except those in the washing machine) were taken in our hand luggage. I found out later that the burglar was a young drug addict who lived at the end of the street where I lived; the son of a notable inhabitant.

My husband took me home to check what else was missing from the house. Then came the second shock – a major one! The short motorbike ride from my sister’s house was taxing enough for me, and the upturned condition within my house was the limit. Suddenly, as I turned to look at my husband, he appeared to me as a two-headed fierce looking monster with long teeth ready to pounce on me! I thank Allah now for my daily practice of reciting the Quranic verses; for it kept me from shouting hysterically and my husband would surely have thought I have gone bonkers! Instead, I quickly recited the ayatul Kursi, hoping the image would go away. I opened my eyes – and still it was the monster looking down on me. I shut my eyes again.

This was when my logical mind took over. I am so truly grateful for my university studies in Biology. I have known then that when the toxic creatinine level rises to a certain stage in the blood, it will start to play havoc on the brain. It will cause hallucinations! And that was it, I told myself. I was at a certain stage of toxin accumulation in my blood that I was beginning to hallucinate. This knowledge comforted me a lot.

I kept on reciting verses from the Holy Quran, trying to maintain composure, greatly comforted in the knowledge that this was just a hallucination due to toxin accumulation; I was not possessed. Although the fear was so real, both the knowledge and reciting the Quran helped me keep my cool. I knew at that moment, I was at the end of my tether.

Until today, I have the deepest respect for my knowledge in Biology that has helped me in my most trying moment – and possibly saved me from being wrongly accused as being possessed or insane. And I truly believe that my near death experience has molded me into the person I am today..Thank you Allah, Alhamdulillah.

(c)norhafizah manaf

Motherhood - What It Means to Me

To My Boys,
I guess I was a mother long before I ever had you. I have always loved children; and always wanted to have children of my own. I grew up in a large family; where there was ample love between my parents and us 11 children. With so many of us, we had to overlook so many luxuries in life; but they did not matter. We were happy just the way we were.

I guess I was blessed by Allah with a quick mind, Alhamdulillah earning a scholarship to the UK. And that was when I believe, I started being your Ummi. By Allah’s mercy and grace, in UK I really got to know Islam and myself. I read extensively about parental duties and hadith from the Prophet Muhammad s.a.w stayed in my mind. I learnt from the hadith that when a child is born, he is like that of a piece of white cloth. It is the parents that colour him.

Narrated Abu Huraira: Allah's Messenger (peace and blessings be upon him) said, "No child is born except on Al-Fitra (Islam) and then his parents make him Jewish, Christian or Magian, as an animal produces a perfect young animal: do you see any part of its body amputated?" (part of a Hadith in Bukhari).

It began to dawn on me of the gravity of my responsibilities. How was I to make you true servants of Allah – Abid; when I was not a truly practising Muslim myself. I was lacking in my faith in so many aspects; and I knew I had so much learning to do before I could even have you guys.
And I knew too I could not do it alone!

So, I prayed hard to Allah to bless me with a husband who shared my vision and mission. I knew to get that I had to strive to be the best too. And I used every opportunity I had in UK to better myself as a Muslimah ....so that I be worthy of being your Ummi.

And Allah helped me with a husband who shared my vision and mission; as far as raising children were concerned. Alhamdulillah, he was supportive in my strategy to raise you guys up. Boys, I love you guys to no end. If at all possible I don’t even want an iota of harm to come your way ... what more the whispers of Satan. Thus from even before conception, I made sure I was protecting you guys with Allah’s help. I can only hope that my prayers were answered. Throughout my pregnancies, I tried my best to eat only the halal and good food that would make your bodies strong. It was indeed a blessing when the doctors placed me in the ward for months when they wanted to monitor my renal function during pregnancy. What seemed to be like a prison sentence turned out to be quality time for me to catch up on my Quran recitation and Zikrullah to make sure that your minds would know your Creator even before you guys were born. Alhamdulillah!

And when you guys were born, we made sure we followed the Sunnah of Prophet Muhammad s.a.w - to have the Azan, the call to Prayer and Success be the first thing that reached your ears. Hopefully, may Allah bless you guys with success both here and in the Hereafter.

Then came to the real core business of raising you guys. I remember these words of our Prophet s.a.w.:
Messenger of Allah (Peace and blessings of Allah be upon him) used to speak about children - boys and girls - and Say: "O Muslims, O fathers and mothers, O my followers, be kind and compassionate towards children, for someone who is not kind to children has no place amongst the Muslims."

Children are blessings: (Muslim children, Islam and children, Qur'an and children, Muslim Parenting)

Allah (SWT) says in Noble Qur'an: "Kill not your children for fear of want. We shall provide sustenance for them as well as for you. Verily the killing of them is great sin." Noble Qur'an (17: 31)






I am thankful to Allah that my own parents provided me with a good education and that Allah had blessed me with a keen interest in knowledge. Same goes with your father. Alhamdulillah, by His Grace, we managed to get decent jobs to provide you guys with your daily physical needs quite comfortably. Emotionally, I tried my best boys. From day one, I have tried, within my limitations, to be always there for you guys. I pray I shall always be there for you in times to come; and always be there for you even when you feel you no longer need my assistance. I read and reread parenting in Islam, psychology books on parenting; and shared with other parents, the contemporary as well as the veterans. Guys, I have tried to be the smartest mother I could be, answering patiently all your questions – and you guys were very inquisitive boys. I wanted to be your main source of reference, so that what was processed through your minds was what I fed you.

Boys, I tried my level best to make you guys balanced in all aspects. I am not that well versed in our Islamic faith; but I tried to be a good muslim mother to you. I familiarised you with what that it is advocated by our Prophet s.a.w – that of manners! Alhamdulillah, your grandmother taught me good, to behave well. So I adopted the same like manners upon yourselves; added with the proper, documented teachings of Islam pertaining manners. I may appear to be rather restrictive on occasion; for instance not allowing you guys to even go out of the house when Maghrib approached; when you watched behind barred grill while your cousins played on the front porch. I was sad too boys; my heart went out to you guys. I know how you guys wanted badly to join in the fun and play. But I was just trying to follow the Islamic way of life. I wanted the Islamic way of life to be inculcated in you guys; to be a part of you. I could only pray that one day you will see the reason for my “strictness”.

Islam begins with the word “Read” – an indicator to the importance of knowledge. Yes, I must admit, I never joked around where education is concerned. I read all I could get my hands on the best approaches to educating children. I named you guys with names that held the highest respect to knowledge; in the hope that you guys would honour knowledge and be responsible for your names – Noble and Knowledgeable; Intelligent and Excellent. I reminded you guys again and again that you had to respect your names, uphold and be true to the meanings of your names. Thus far, I am grateful to Allah that you have held up your names well indeed. I am sorry if I was always a bit serious, but believe me, it was my way of telling I don’t want you guys to lose out in the matter of knowledge. I can’t give you wealth for all of your life, but I can hope to leave you guys with the love of knowledge and the dignity of being learned men.

More importantly, your father and I, we both know that our understanding of Islam is so basic. More sadly is the fact that I know so little of our Quranic language – the Arabic language. So, from very early on, your father and I decided to relocate ourselves to somewhere where you guys could get the proper Islamic education – from Tawheed to Khat. Because of this your father now drives more than 40 km a day to his office, and for the past 11 years he has been driving you guys to school, and in the evenings I would be fetching you guys. I am sorry that you guys had to get up very early every morning so as not to make your father late; and that often you guys have to wait quite some time before I reached school in the evening because I was always too tired to rush. But we wanted to give you the best education boys – the Islamic one. I know you guys always compared how strict I was in letting you go out with your friends. Believe me, it pained me too to have to make decisions forbidding you from going out with your friends when you were younger; but alas, I am a woman, a mother, and I get overly anxious when I don’t have any guarantees to your safety. I know sometimes your friends laughed at you guys for not knowing how to play the snooker or bowling, but it was my way of protecting you from being too familiar with the world outside before I am convinced that you guys would not be too easily influenced by what’s out there in the world.

I know to so many, and perhaps to you guys too, I may seem to put a hand in every aspect of your life. Believe me boys, I do not do that out of possessiveness, I do that simply because I am not a good Muslimah, but that I am a mother who tries my best to be a good muslim one. I certainly cannot tell you what the Syariah says pertaining this or that matter; but I can protect you from being dragged into harm’s way. If at any point you ever thought of rebelling, then I hope now you know the reason why I did what I did.

You guys are almost grown now, and I would like to think that slowly I am learning to let you guys go too. I am just a simple woman, and it is my utmost hope and wish that I have done my job to the best of my ability. I can only hope and pray that my way of bringing you guys up have given you a strong solid hold on you to know who you really are, know your place in the eyes of Allah, know your duties as His servants. I can only hope that you guys will go out into the world knowing full well your responsibility as a Muslim Mukmin, a man, a son, a husband, a member of your society. It is my greatest wish that I have fired in you enough the love for knowledge and the strength and zeal to excel, to be the best in any field that you partake in life.

And last but not least, I pray to Allah Almighty that you guys know that whatever that I did for you guys, I did to my best abilty as your mother, with the best intention for your success here and Hereafter, in the best way that I know how. I know I goofed up many times, and will continue to goof up many times more, but may you guys know that everything that I did in the past, present and in future, I do them out of love of a mother – a title, a responsibility that I was honoured with when you guys came into my life. And with that title, come all the joys and pain and tears and laughter and all the love that fills my heart so – that I have come to be so grateful for .... when you guys made me Your Mother! When you guys chose me to be Your UMMI!

I love you guys. Thank you for awarding me this motherhood.

ESRD & I - A Painful Goodbye

My appointment with the O & G was made for the very next day – straight for admission. By 8 am I was already there and was seen by the specialist.
“We will give you something which will cause your uterus to contract to expel the baby,” he explained gently. I remember then asking anxiously, “If the baby comes out alive, you will try to save the baby, wont you?”

The doctor had looked at me long and hard. Then he let out a slow sigh and spoke, “Do you know why you are having this procedure done?”
I simply nodded. He looked at me a moment longer before he spoke again, “Alright, of course. If the baby comes out alive, we will save him.”

(I had heard at that time that in Australia, a 24 week baby had survived premature delivery and sustained in a specialised incubator ; his body rubbed in saffron. Alas, I had only just begun my teaching career and did not have the means to go to Australia).

I was then placed in a 2-bedded room and as soon as my husband left, a nurse came and administered the injection. Almost immediately I felt strange in my tummy and had to lie down. Immediately I felt an intense cold and pulled up my blanket. But I was still shivering. I called the nurse who happened to check in on my roommate and asked for an extra blanket. She returned with a blanket and covered me up but I was still shivering vigorously, so she added another blanket on me. It was then that I felt my baby inside me suddenly turned and tossed so restlessly; almost as if he was writhing in agony, as I suddenly felt the wave of contraction in my uterus. I pushed away at the blankets and looked down my tummy. It was moving in all sorts of directions; which only told me that my baby was in huge discomfort, perhaps even great pain. Immediately tears came rushing down my eyes, as I put my hand over my tummy as if by gently massaging my tummy I could comfort my child inside me. I just couldn’t stop the tears. All I could do was to cradle my tummy and whisper hoarsely, “I am sorry baby. Ummi is so sorry...so sorry...so sorry!” – (taking a pause; too difficult to write this down. The tears are slowly flowing down even now – the memory is too vividly etched in my mind).

The contraction lasted for a short while only; but it seemed like a lifetime. Eventually it slowed down, then stopped, and my baby quietened down. The intense cold I felt earlier disappeared, leaving me utterly exhausted.

What went through my mind at that time? As I dozed off into an exhausted slumber, I gently stroked my baby from the outside and spoke quietly to him, “If you can fight baby, then fight to survive my son; but if it is too difficult, then just let go. I love you so much and I am terribly sorry for doing this to you; causing you so much pain. Please forgive me my son, please forgive me.”

The whole procedure was repeated at around 12 noon and I had to go through the ordeal again. I cried brokenheartedly as I felt my son struggle inside me. But somehow, his movements were not as strong as the first time. The next injection was due around 6 pm.

At around 5 pm my husband came to visit after his office hours. He sat at the edge of the bed near my feet as I told him what had happened. As he leaned closer to hear my account, suddenly a gush of water burst from me splashing onto his shirt. Panicked, he rushed out to alert the nurse. I knew immediately I was in labour, as I suddenly felt the urge to push. A young male doctor, Dr. Amir arrived and helped me with the delivery. I was glad he was understanding and comforting, encouraging me all the way as I sobbed my heart out. The feeling of your very being wrenched out from you, leaves me no recollection at all of the pain of delivery.

And so, on Thursday, 23rd January 1986, at 6.23 pm (12 Jamadil Ula 1406), my first child, whom I named Abdullah bin Zulbahri was born – still and lifeless.

Goodbye Abdullah, my son. Wait for me in heaven InshaAllah. To me you are a martyr – for you have given up your life so that I may live. I just want you to know that your sacrifice have not gone wasted. Your sacrifice have paved the way for your two brothers, Ashraf Ilman and Zakiy Mohsin. They know you so well like you are amongst them when they speak of you; and of how you look – with your very fair skin, and that birth mark on your eye, so exactly like your father’s. When you were brought back to your Atok Manaf’s house, it was your Pak Aral and Mak Mok, my elder brother and sister who bathed you. You were so small and fragile that they had to place you in a vegetable basket and gently drew water over you.

Did you know that the caretaker of the cemetery near our house was kind enough to allot you a space out of sympathy? Everyone loves you Abdullah, and your uncle and aunt kept saying how so much like your father you looked. Your father had told me later that on that night, whilst your Atok Manaf kept vigilant guard over you, he curled up alone on the bed and sobbed his heart out for your loss, hugging his knees to his chest, searching for solace he could not find. And did you know that after I was discharged I went to stay at your Atok Manaf’s home just to be near you? Then one day it rained heavily and I suddenly rushed out of the house and then stopped short when your Pak Aral called, “Adik, where are you going?” Did you know what I said? “Abdullah...he will get wet,” and then I seem to remember. Your Pak Aral just stood and stared when I slowly walked back into the house.

I miss you my son, never a day passes by that I don’t think of you. Every year, I wish you a silent happy birthday on 23rd January. You would be 24 now my son. But its alright, I know you are in good hands. I often dream of you when you were a baby. There was always a fair lady looking after you and guarding you jealously whenever I came to visit you in my dream. So I know you are in good hands.

Dont worry about us Abdullah. Your Ummi is well now, thanks to you. Your brothers are doing fine and they love you dearly. You have another brother 4 years after I lost you, but I had a miscarriage. Your father and I, we both still ache for you, but we will be patient till we meet again one day God Willing. Ummi takes comfort everyday from this hadith of the Prophet:
“Some women requested the Prophet to fix a day for them as the men were taking all his time. On that he promised them one day for religious lessons and commandments. Once during such a lesson the Prophet said, "A woman whose three children die will be shielded by them from the Hell fire." On that a woman asked, "If only two die?" He replied, "Even two (will shield her from the Hell-fire)." ~Sahih Bukhari

(c)norhafizah manaf

ESRD & I - No Title For This

22nd January 1986. My husband and I finally made our way to the Nephrology Department in HKL to meet up with Dr. Zaki Murad, to discuss our decision regarding my pregnancy. We had delayed our decision for nearly a month now. As soon as I registered my name at the counter, the staff nurse told us to wait as Dr. Zaki had instructed that he be told immediately of my arrival. (Perhaps he did not want me to be in the waiting room long enough for me to change my mind). True enough, in no time at all I was summoned to Room 2.

This was the first time my husband met up with Dr. Zaki. As if understanding my troubled state of mind, Dr. Zaki turned to my husband and addressed him. I was relieved that he had decided to mediate the meeting.
“So, En. Zul, have you and your wife come to a decision yet?” My husband has always been a man with few words (still is till today). He paused, stammered a bit before asking, “I would like to know is there any other way to treat my wife without having to give up on her pregnancy?”

Dr. Zaki looked at me with a questioning look. I stared blankly back at him. Somehow I think he understood. He turned to my husband and patiently began to explain.
“I am sure your wife has explained why I wanted to meet the both of you today. Your wife is suffering from End Stage Renal Disease (ESRD); which is right now aggravated by her pregnancy. I don’t think in her condition, she can carry the pregnancy through to full term. Even if she did, I am not sure how it will affect the baby; with all the toxins that is building up in her. Continuing the pregnancy will only endanger her life. But I am sure you already know this.”

There was a momentary silence, as both of us contemplated Dr. Zaki’s words. What I can remember is my mind was blank – a numbness taking over my soul and mind. I remember feeling as if it was not me that Dr. Zaki was talking about.

And then my husband finally spoke.
“We have decided to save my my wife. We will do as you advised. We will stop the pregnancy”.
I cannot imagine how difficult it must be for my husband to say those words. But both of us have prayed long and hard fo God to help us decide. We had done our Istikharah Prayer (Prayer for Guidance – see appendix). And this was what God has ordained for us. We remain thankful to God for anything that befall us anytime. We both have faith that there is always a blessing behind anything that befell us.

I remember clearly my siblings’ reactions when we spoke of our decision. My parents, especially my late Abah; he supported our decision fully. It was understable – I was his child. Some of my sisters thought that I was not showing full trust in God (tawakkal); taking the future into our hands.
“How do you know that the doctors are right? Why don’t you put your trust in God and just continue with your pregnancy? Let God decide. What you are doing now is taking things into your own hands.”

My grand aunt and late brother suggested traditional/alternative options. Oh I assure you we have exhausted all options and all resources. Sadly, things just did not turn any better. My condition continued to worsen. We simply had no choice.
I never minded what my siblings had to say. They did not understand. It was enough that I knew it was something that was way out of my hands. I knew I loved my unborn son (and still do and will always do until the day I die; when I hope to meet up with him again, God Willing). I knew my husband felt the same too. He had always wanted a son who will fight for the cause of Islam; yet now he was giving up on one! We both knew the excruciating pain of making that decision. And the one comfort that we held on to were the words of Sayidina Omar r.a. on fate – “that we are moving on from one fate of Allah into another fate by Allah”.

“We have delayed this long enough; the foetus is entering its 24th week. From now on, its growth will surely affect your wife’s health. I will refer you to the O & G department for an immediate TOP – Termination of Pregnancy”.
Dr. Zaki’s voice sounded so distant. This was all like a dream to me – a long, long bad dream.

Addendum:
One friend told me recently he is addicted to his children. Anyone who holds this same point of view will surely know that when any one of our children proceeds us to meet his/her Creator, a part of us dies too ... the void never to be replaced; no matter how many other children we may have.
And for this reason, this memory stands out clearly in my mind.

(c)norhafizah manaf