Everything fell into places on the day the Angel of Death took Father's life away from his mortal body (atas izin Allah).

It was a few days after his return from the holy land of Mecca.

I was at work when I received the call. I kinda knew what to expect upon hearing my brother's voice, something urgent, big, something to prepare for the worst.

In the usual state of denial, I kept my hope high, staying optimistic, 'Probably just a heart attack,' I thought to myself.

Noone greeted me at home, I slowly went upstairs, when I saw my sobbing family members and the lifeless body of Father on the bed.

Mother, I still remember, was crying and talking at that same time. Among her words were, "Kenapa pergi cepat sangat", "Menyesal tak dapat minta maaf", "Hati dia baik, dia bersih baru balik Mekah", "Dia tak pernah tinggal makan ubat, selalu ikut cakap doktor", "Apa nak buat ni..."

I checked for Father's pulse, I started CPR on him, but Mother said, "Mana boleh dah...Dia dah tak ada, dah biru..."

Slowly, I left the room, 'Father has gone', and the least I could do for him now was to cover my aurat with the newly imported black jubah and grabbed the Yaasin and recited the surah.

God is Great because it was all well planned.

- My sister was scheduled for home that day. She was already on her way when she found out
- Kain ihram = Kain kapan (but in the end, we used the one supplied by the Masjid)
- Father bought minyak attar, which fragrance d his body
- Since my parents just came back from Hajj, we had cash in hand which was for the people who helped in handling the jenazah. We also distributed the kopiah and tasbih
- There were 4 deaths that day, so we had to wait for our turn for the burial of the grave, which allowed my sister to attend the funeral just in time

I am very satisfied with the whole process. I am proud of my family holding it together.

The next day, my aunt came to me and advised us to do prayers for Father. She was saying that Father had worked so hard to give us a good life.

I broke down because I know she was telling the truth. We weren't very well-off before. Father worked from the bottom up to get us here, to live comfortably but he wasn't able to enjoy what he earned because he left at the tender age of 63.

On the same day, Mother asked me, whether Father would survive if he was taken to the doctor earlier. Honestly, I don't know.

And honestly, I prefer him not dying on the hospital bed. It would be too uncomfortable for him. He would hate the needle pricks, he would hate the wires. I would hate the facts if the doctors are unable to save him. I would hate it if other hospital personnel who are unrelated to Father giving distant, unpersonalized comments about Father.





Father died exactly one year after my maternal grandmother passed away.

Personally, I don't give a damn about the date, I think it is useless. Unless we use the Islamic calendar, then I would appreciate the coincidence better.

But I guess, it is alright, as long as it makes it easier for Mother to remember both of her beloved mother and husband.





No doubt I am extremely sad of Father's passing.

My boyfriend and I had always imagined us being finally blessed. Father had always wanted a grandson, so my boyfriend had repeatedly said that once we got married, a boy would be our first child and Father would make him his favourite grandchild. A bond will form and we will be tight.

Father left too early.

Who will I hug with now that Father won't be there to marry me off to my boyfriend?

And forever I would wonder, what did he pray for, especially for me, when he was performing the Hajj?

Semoga ayah saya mendapat Haji mabrur, meninggal dunia dalam iman.