on friday, june 16th, 2023 i wrote in my journal, 

i can still hear the crying sounds of a woman grieving over the death of a 5 year old child. it’s juma and they/we just performed the janazah prayer.  how little we think about the days we have left to walk this earth. may i never have to experience the pain of knowing a small coffin. truly, as a human it feels unfair to witness lives lost “too soon”. 

i spend my born-day this year in mourning. a couple months ago i had a dream where i saw a full and radiant moon. i saw the numbers 11.22.23. when i woke up my first thought was “i think i’m pregnant”. what cannot be imagined is how this universe is in sync and what my dreams dare to show me as signs or warnings. indeed that full moon, on that very date i took a test at home and it gave me the news i have always wanted. i was pregnant. 

was. 

on 12.13.23 i went to an appointment with hope and left with a shattered heart. my baby’s heart was no longer beating. what frightened me the most was that the night before i spent tossing and turning fighting the most apocalyptic nightmares, even playing surah Al-Baqarah, the longest in the Quran in order to fall asleep, only to wake up to another nightmare. it was too early for fajr prayer so i decided to read tahajjud instead. it was around 3am. then i played surah Al-Imran and fell back to sleep. the doctor told me the following morning that the heart must have stopped in the last day or two. 

‘i’m so sorry…this can happen sometimes, and we don’t know why…’ she said.

i told her with assurity, ‘i think it was last night, i felt like something was wrong’

‘did you feel physically ill?’ she asked me

‘no, i just felt afraid, very afraid.’ i told her

‘i can tell you believe in God,’ she said to me. ‘i had twins at the age of 42. i can tell you have a desire to be a mother, and that’s a beautiful thing.’ she said to me softly, before going back into doctor mode and listing all my to-do’s that i mentally could no longer comprehend. 

surgery, blood, dates, legalities, insurance costs, more appointments- it’s all a devastating blur.

i wish men could understand why women deserve to be honored beyond imagination with what we endure. i think back to my first period… my first doll, everything hurt. never have i known a pain like this before. and trust me, i’m not a stranger to pain. 

i don’t usually write until i feel healed, but i don’t believe this is something i will ever feel completely healed from. over the last ~3 months i’ve witnessed the atrocities taking place all over the world, especially in Gaza where parents have lost their children in the most horrific ways, and where children have subsequently become orphaned. life and death happens all the time, except this has been by no accident- it’s done via hatred and paid for by american taxes. 

i struggled to not feel guilt as i paid for my doctor's visit with a credit card, i told myself that even bad insurance is still insurance. i felt guilty knowing the machines they used relied on electricity, something so many do not have access to. i struggled before my second appointment that would confirm the loss of pregnancy when they requested i drink 32 ounces of water. i had access to 32 ounces of clean water. how dare i feel grief?  i am one of the lucky ones and i don’t dare let myself forget it. 

and yet… i think of the 5 year old who died in Maryland this past june. i think of the quote i heard years ago after the 2014 bombings of the Gaza strip, “the tiniest coffins are the heaviest” and i felt numb. even crying felt like a privilege, i felt numb. 

Allah, Allah, where are you? i cried on the janamaz. what is the lesson? 

“inna hum ya keedu na kaida, wa a’qee du qaiy-da” / “verily they plan a plan, but I too plan a plan” (chapter 86, surah At-Tariq)

being sad isn’t the same as being ungrateful. i know this too has a reason, however just because one has steadfast belief that we live in a world organized by the Divine, it does not guarantee ease. nor does it guarantee the absence of sadness. 

i know of a man who was known to cry a lot. he existed 1445 years ago and never got the chance to meet his own father. orphaned by the age of 6, Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) experienced the grief of losing his mother Aminah (peace be upon her), and later by losing his wife of 25 years, Khadija (may she be at peace). he even lost his children (yes, plural) throughout different stages of his life. his first born was a tough loss for him, and his own relatives celebrated his loss as if it were proof of his dishonesty and the infliction of punishment. i often find myself relating to these stories and the more i learn, the more i seek solitude. 

after telling a family member about losing this pregnancy i received a phone call today. instead of “happy birthday” she asked me, “were you careless?” 

i fought the sarcasm within myself, i fought wanting to scream. i went back to feeling numb. “no…i’ve been stressed but what can i do about that?” i then reminded her of how much help my sister had during her pregnancies with my mother and i consistently there for her, and then decided to be quiet. after all, anything i say can and will be used to shame me for self-victimizing myself so i’ll just shut myself up. no need to defend myself to people who have their own agenda. relatives ≠ family. knowing the difference is a vital part of growth & healing. 

i later asked my husband if he thought it was a mistake i told them… he said something i want to remember, “you were being genuine when you told them, so i don’t think it was a mistake. what they choose to think or say beyond that is on them, not you.” 

i hate the thought of something being a punishment. it’s part of controlled and cruel oppressiveness. the first time it really bothered me was hearing a financially wealthy individual state confidently that everything they had in life was due to their loyalty to the 5 daily prayers. 

i responded, “nah… i’ve been to refugee camps and i’ve never seen people who pray with more faith than the muslims who live their lives trapped in tiny little shelters with limited access to basic life necessities. you imply that your prayers are heard more than theirs & that’s not right.” 

to think that prayer is affiliated with what we have is something i firmly disagree with. in fact i’ve stopped asking for things when i pray. i pray because i have the ability to pray, it’s a simple command to reconnect with my creator, so why wouldn’t i pause to take a break from the world? i have no more requests, i believe Allah knows best.  i do pray for ease through the hard times. i do pray for peace in my heart. i do pray for guidance.

sometimes what i believe is a test for me is actually more a test of sabr (patience), while often it is a bigger test for those around who witness without action, or worse- witnessing with arrogance or ignorance. similarly, it’s why i don’t believe in neutrality. being in the in-between is nothing more than an invisible safety net for people who seek constant approval from others. code switching to what the popular narrative is rather than using their God-given ability (aka the frontal lobe) to reason, to question, to learn, and to act upon it. (something Prophet Muhammad peace be upon him strongly encouraged). asking questions is what led to women having the right to divorce, remarry, and have free-will, all without being chastised. crazy what modern-day theologists have called devotion is actually conformity and compliance. shame on them.

when people take this idea of reward and punishment, often taught to us by controlling parents, adults, or institutions where standing apart is against the norm, words such as “rebel” “independent” “argumentative” “black sheep” etc. continue to be used in a biased form to encourage people to not question those in authority. my “problems” in life arose when i refused to give up my free will. 

do i believe this loss is a punishment? 

no. 

why not? 

because i believe in the message of Quranic revelation more than what people have to say.

what do i mean? 

“fa inna ma al usri yusra” / “so surely with hardship comes ease” (surah As-Sharh, chapter 94 verse 5)

and i believe nothing is permanent, again encouraged by messages of endless wisdom.  because this too shall pass… 

i must believe, i must stay steadfast. i cannot pray janazah’s and witness the loss so many others experience and think so little of Allah that i would undergo such cruel punishment. no, i don’t believe that. i believe in Divine timing. 

i do feel heartache, because i’m human of course i feel. there’s an old bollywood classic song called “dil se” and one of the lines talks about how pain is proof of the existence of a heart, for without a heart we would not be able to experience pain. the very heart that has continued to beat without my permission for the last 33 years has not given up on me, so how can i give up on the One who created it? being determined allowed me to pick up a book to read after hearing the apathetic comments from relatives only to find a message that felt handpicked by the Almighty specially for me. a text written through the eloquent musings of the ever so inspiring Khalil Gibran (may he be at peace). 

“your children are not your children. 

they are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.

they come through you but not from you, 

and though they are with you yet they belong not to you.” 

- Khalil Gibran, The Prophet (p.17) 

my husband and i decided to give a name to this unborn child. a name that has multiple meanings. in Japan, the name Akira is a cohesive one not set toward any gender that means everything from radiant, to shining light, to rising sun, and so much more. i thought again of my dream of the bright full moon. the same moon that in another dream conveyed to me through whispers of an angel that it dyed my hair to help guide broken souls toward me. i believe i am a gift from God to witness this earth. there is beauty within it along with hardship. moments of sadness and moments of courage. my goal is to seek peace through patience, balance, and moderation.

the arabic term closely related to ‘akira’ caused tears to flow from my eyes when i heard it. one i’ve read and heard many times, except now it pulled my heartstrings tight.

akhirah: the hereafter, ever after, a word that defines life after death. “Al-Akhir”, its root word, is one of the 99 names of God in the arabic language. Al-Akhir is the last, without a penultimate. Al-Akhir is the last without an after; nothing can possibly follow it. 

Al-Akhir is the one fully manifest in time. 

in meditation, Akhir can be discovered at the perfectly still point one experiences briefly at the end of the exhalation of the breath.

Al-Akhir is the final destination of the ultimate return of all things. 

my dearest Akhirah L. Khan, it is to Allah that we belong, and to Allah that we shall return. 

you left me sooner than i would have wanted, and i trust i will understand why another day… with time comes understanding too.

surah Al-Baqarah, chapter 2 verse 156: inna lillahi wa inna illaihi rajioon / we belong to Allah, and to Allah shall we return.

5:55 pm | 12.28.23 | jumada al-thani 15, 1445