To Abah, 

Thank you for showing us how to endure the worst storms in our lives. Thank you for giving us the chance to live a moderate life, but always sufficient. Thank you for taking care of this small unit of a family. Thank you for not giving up on your children, being supportive of our passions, teaching us the way of life, reminding us to put religion first, and family on top priority, being headstrong, and living with firm principles of life. 

Thank you for being there when we needed you, especially when I needed you. Thank you for fetching me up from school all those years, thank you for always signing off my report cards even though I didn't remarkably excel during school, and thank you for without fail, sending me off to Uni every Sunday night. Thank you for paving the way that we needed to take, but giving ample space for us to choose the path by ourselves.

Thank you for the guidance you've given us since day 1. You're the strongest figure in my whole life. You're the number one example that I looked up to, I aspire in being all the good character of yours. Your wide vast knowledge of Islam was admirable, and I still remember a few occasions that I followed you to the night classes you taught in little quaint surau, where the Jemaah were small and bonded tightly. I remembered vividly there was some surau who loves to give us local tropical fruits every time the lesson was done, and abundant food. 

I remember always looking forward to what you brought back from your night classes. We didn't care that we ate dinner, we just were so excited to see what food you brought home. 

Thank you for showing how respected and reputable of a man you are. Thank you for teaching us that one should always be humble no matter where we are. To carve our own path, and walk at our own pace. 

To Abah, 

You'll live in our prayers, in our memories, and in each and every time you flash by our recollection space. You'll live as long as people practice what you preached, and truth be told dear Abah, you've preached many, you've preached masses, and you've preached well, you've spread your wings with generosity, embrace differences, and showed kindness like no other. 

All our cats and kittens would pray for you too, Abah. I know for sure Tupai would miss you picking her up every morning. You're a good man Abah, I aspire to be you, today, and onwards. 

To Abah, 

From the bottom of our hearts, rest well Abah. Rest assured that your deeds in this temporary world were done. You've done it all, you've taught patiently, you've preached generously, you gave your all, you shared halves of what you don't have, you spoke forever softly, you loved well, and you lived well.

Last Friday was supposed to be your grandiose 68th birthday celebration. We held a small gathering marking the end of Raya and in regard to your passing, we recited Yassin and tahlil for you and all our loved ones who passed before us. That morning was cold and cloudy. There were some tears that afternoon. Some wept for your passing, but your kids held strong. We held strong for Mak, we held strong in solidarity for each other. We can't show weakness in front of Mak, and we can't show weakness in front of your siblings (our aunts) cause they wept louder, but our grief was bitter.

To Abah, 

I remembered that the last time I cried for you was during your burial at the cemetery, and I've never cried after. I tried to indulge myself in work, kept myself busy, and showed strength in front of my friends and especially in front of Mak. But last week, I was on my knees, sobbing, and I felt like someone was trying to rip open my chest cause I can't breathe right. The feeling was so heavy, that the longing felt ominous. Missing someone you know you could meet again the next day or the next week, or the next month is assuring. But missing someone you lost forever in this world, was terrifying.

But we have to get back up. Continuously praying for the ones who left us, and trying our best for the ones who still live. 

To Abah,

This is the first to many celebrations without you. But it won't stop me from celebrating your well-lived life. Meaningful, great, prominent recollections that will surely be stuck in my core memory, and some will forever live in our practices. This is a celebration of your teachings, and all the guidance, and wise words you left behind. This is for you Abah.

The guard at the counter was well aware that we were summoned to go up to the ICU. Kak Yan, Mak, and I, went up first. I pressed the intercom on the left wall, and we entered. The nurses and on-call doctor greeted us. I took both of them to see Abah. Mak immediately cried seeing her husband behind the two sets of glass doors, barely breathing with the help of tons of machines. Beeping continuously, breaking the silence of the room. Mak stood near the glass doors, her eyes fixated on Abah. She mumbled prayers under her breath. 

She seldom showed us this side of her. At that frozen moment, Mak was scared, that fear wrapped the three of us. The nurses asked us kindly to wait in the waiting room outside, as the doctor would like to talk to the whole family. So we walked away hesitantly.

Eleven of us were seated in a circle in that quiet cold room. Only a repeated beep was heard from across the room. Mak was dry-coughing, and sometimes baton-passing it to Kak Yan. Sniffles of a runny nose from a few of us. The stillness was too loud, it was deafening. We waited eagerly for almost five minutes before the on-call doctor greeted us with a smile behind her face mask. She sat closest to the door and asked each and every one of us, who is who. She said a few sorries to Mak and asked if she was doing okay since she heard Mak was coughing.

She started her sharing by saying her whole team has tried their best, but to this very moment, Abah's condition keeps on declining. Kak Farah was seated right next to her, as she's the most familiar with all the jargon she's using, to simplify it and throw the information back at us. 

She added that there was no improvement in his condition and even the blood pressure medication, didn't help. At this rate, CPR wasn't gonna help, the risk of broken ribs, would only lengthen Abah's suffering. Being critically ill and the severe infection resistance to the antiviral and antibacterial, she was worried that the whole organ would collapse by the ticking clock. The kidney, liver, heart, and even the brain, all would be affected due to his intubation. She nervously cackled, under her voice saying that this was her first time handling a patient that needed up to 5 administrations of blood pressure medication. By the layer of her nervousness, she didn't want to sugarcoat the current situation, but at the same time, she was respectful enough to not throw us with the hard-swallowing facts, that we might be counting down to Abah's very last moments. 

In brief, she apologized to everyone, especially to Mak. She repeatedly said that all we could do now was to pray as hard as possible, but again, the possibility that Abah's recovery was slim chance. She hoped that the whole family would prepare mentally, and physically, cause Abah's condition at that hour was too fragile. She won't make any promises, and before she excused herself, she apologized to Mak once more. 

The room was enveloped in loud silence again. Mak quickly stood up, and we turned to her almost instantaneously. 

"Nak tunggu apa lagi ni? Jom balik" She muttered in her cracked voice. She sniffled. Wiped away some tears left from her eyes. We got up and took the lift back to the lobby. Everyone's eyes were red from crying, from fighting off sleepiness, from the scary feeling of the night that would change the course of our lives, forever. The night shift stays, Kak Farah, Abg Mie, Along, and Kak Long While Angah, Kak Ida, the kids, Kak Yan, Mak, and I, be on standby at home. 

Though Kak Yan drove smoothly, I felt every little bump of the road cause it was overwhelming to process. I rubbed some balm on Mak's chest, to relieve her coughing. She immediately lie down on the couch when we got back, I fed her cough syrup, to push down the phlegm. She whispered Astaghfirullah under her breath. I curled beside her on the floor. My head was heavy, like a pressing gavel, I need to catch some sleep, not much, just by a little. 

18th March 2023 | 0130AM

My phone rang at around 0122AM, it was the inevitable call. The ICU asked whoever was available or near the hospital compound, if anyone at all, would like to take a look at Abah, could go up to the ICU at level 4. I told the Whatsapp group, asking Kak Farah, Along, Kak Long, and Abg Mie, to go up to the ICU, cause Abah was critically ill. 

Kak Farah took a photo of Abah with a message, asking for everyone to come, Abah's blood pressure dropped to 40. It was just a waiting game now. Kak Yan squatted beside me, she poked me cause I fell asleep. My half-asleep body was registering her pointing to the phone, with a text from Kak Farah. 

"Kalau dah tak ada siapa yang nak tengok, doktor nak off machine" There was a cold shiver up my spine. Abg Ngah and Kak Ida sprinted off back to the hospital. I heard their car drive away. Kak Yan was sniffling when she asked me to wake Mak up. I collected myself, and the both of us lean closer to Mak's small frame. I shook her body, and her eyes snapped open. 

"Mak..." she let out a loud sigh. Her eyeballs moved between me and Kak Yan. "Kenapa?" she asked softly. 

"Mak, Abah dah tenat...doktor nak tutup mesin pernafasan Abah..."I choked at my words. To my surprise, Mak was unfazed, she remained calm, took a deep breath, and looked beyond the four walls of our living room. 

"Takpelah, kalau dah tiba masa dia nak pergi, Mak redha" she wiped her face. Mak exudes a strong acceptance spirit. She won't show it, but I know her heart sunk deep. 

The very next task at my hand was another heavy hitting one. Kak Yan whispered,

"Dik, prepare mesej nak announce Abah meninggal siap-siap, nanti nak blast dekat semua kenalan dia." That was the hardest one-liner that I have to type and save on draft. My hand was shaking, but a job needed to be done.

0340AM

It was a simple text from Kak Farah. 

"Abah dah tak ada dah..." Mak and I were asleep when that happened. I was awakened by Kak Yan's strong poke. The 24hrs stay over at the hospital really took a toll on me. I read the text, trying to connect the straightforward dots. In four words, Abah has passed away. 

That morning felt awfully hushed. As if the whole world was standing still. The trees stopped swaying, and no heavy clouds puffed over. the sky was clear. There was very little wind, all I knew was that we had to bear the news to Mak. She was huffing in her sleep. I pulled her blanket to properly cover her little feet. Kak Yan and I leaned over, once more. We both shook her body at the same time, gently. 

She turned to us, with sleepy eyes, waiting for us to deliver it straight. "Mak...Abah dah meninggal," She sighed in Innalillahiwainnalillahirojiun under her breath. She cried softly, but the inner sobbing was too loud it pierced through the quiet night. Both of us offer ourselves up to her almost instantly. She collected herself to get up. 

"Mak nak pergi mana?" She just walked into her room, ever so silently, and took the ablution and perform solat. I was still rubbing off the sleepiness in my eyes, but the porch outside is already well-lit, Abg Mie got back from the hospital and started cleaning up and threw out the carpets, moved the dining table, to free up the porch. To make space, for Abah's body. 

Later that morning

We had to shake off the doozies. Kak Farah, Along, and Kak Long waited at the forensics for the body. I heard Kak Ida and Abg Ngah park the car after a while. Kak Yan handed me Abah's phone, it's my job now. Spreading the heartbreaking news. It was 5AM in the morning, and you could've imagined people picking up the phone with their half-awaken voices. I kept my composure with the same script from one number to another. 

"Hello, Assalamualaikum. Ni Ustaz XX/Cik XX/, maaflah telefon pagi-pagi, saya Anas, anak Ustaz Mad, (they always am puzzled when it comes to this part), nak bagitahu, Abah baru meninggal." I brought up the news, and it was a repeated cracking Allahuakbar from the other end, every single one of them. It's like a loud and painful scream, but expressive only with that one powerful word, ALLAHUAKBAR! Everyone was in shock. The details entailed afterward. When, how, when will the body be brought home, when is the burial, where is the burial. 

I was never prepared for such a role, but when things like this happened, you just gotta do it. No questions asked, do it and be done with it. That breaking dawn, me and Abg Mie chased after Abg Lan, the bilal who performed Azan at the surau in front of our house. Broke the news, he screamed so loud, it brought tears back to both me and Abg Mie. He was disbelieved. Repeatedly saying he has learned so much from late Abah, who should he ask for? He still got a lot of questions. He cried in Abg Mie's embrace. Wiped off his sniffles, and collected himself. We gave enough information for him to spread the news around, and he walked away to call the Subuh prayers. 

More phone calls in between, more Allahuakbar shrieked from the other end of the line, more hearts were broken, our aunties and uncles, close relatives, called us back to confirm the news, heavy liest the job of a news bearer. 

Jemaah from Seksyen 5 started coming in, neighbors who heard the news, me, and Abg Mie were outside all the time, to greet them in, and share more information of how the business would be sorted that morning. Double confirming the cemetery for the burial, who's handling it, and when the body will be brought back. How is it gonna be, for how long? All these questions were asked like million-dollar questions.

It was around 8AM+ that Abah arrived home. The house was already filled with people, close and far away relatives, neighbors that I could tell by their faces and know half of their names. It was cramped. They gave way for Abah to be placed inside the house. My whole body trembled. Cloaked in whites, frozen, sniffles and gloom shrouding the house. I could hear Yassin being read, around the clock. Cik Ton, a dear friend of our family sat behind me and Mak. 

All guests circle around, and Ustaz Faiz led the Yassin recitation. While, Kak Yan, Abg Ngah, Kak Farah, Mak, and I, sitting in front of Abah. Mak leaned closer when they opened up the cloth that covered Abah's face, Mak wept, silently but the tears were too loud, and every single soul in the room started crying. 

I took a long hard look at Mak, her eyes were fixated on the floor, and her face was tilted down, she was just lost his husband, All I could tell was that Mak was broken, shattered into million pieces. The view I would never wanna see, not from Mak. The Yassin recitation was still ongoing, and slowly, I reached for Mak's left hand, and gripped it tightly, in hope that I could collect the pieces, and if not put it back together, at least I wanna let Mak know, we were here Mak...your children are all here right by your side. Cry all you want Mak, he's the love of your life. Cry all you want Mak, he's been the breadwinner of the family for so long. Cry all you want Mak, he's the father to your children. Cry all you want Mak, he was loved, he lived well, he got to perform Umrah for the last time, with you by his side, and he passed peacefully.

More and more people came in, our small house was already cramped and it was hard to make who's who. One by one, they stood ever silently in front of Abah's frozen body, with their heavy gaze, almost like a final goodbye. One of our aunties came in and hugged Abah tightly, and cried heavily, she didn't wanna let go, and Kak Yan had to calm her down. She was the closest to Abah, as she was the youngest daughter in the family. The clock struck 930AM, and people are still coming in and flooding the heart of the house, but we had to get Abah to be bathed, put on his last clothes, final prayer for him, and have the burial. 

Along and I hopped in the van, I hold on to Abah's temporary casket, whispering Al-Fatihah under my breath. The van drove off to Masjid Batu Arang for Abah's final worldly business. It is the responsibility of the sons, to bathe, clothe him in his final shroud, pray for him, and to bury him. 

The committee of the surau, briefed me and Along, that we're the ones who should be handling Abah's final bath, cause we're the sons. They will guide and teach from step A until the finish, but they trust us to follow thru and do it with our sincerest hearts. This is one of the few final acts of service for Abah. Angah, Abg Mie, a few of my male cousins, one of my uncles, and a neighbor joined shortly. But most of the steps were done by the four of us, Abah's sons. I didn't hesitate at all, I need to see that Abah is all clean, if not like a newborn baby, I want Abah to be neat. There were a few needle spots at the back of his hand, that I massaged gently, my heart shrunk, knowing all the pains he must've dealt those 48 hours at the ICU. He can rest now. 

Before Abah was pat dry, we performed his last ablution, to finish the bathing steps. The white kafan shrouding Abah was perfumed well, and we position Abah over facing Kiblah. Opened the door for family members to come in and pay final respects. We took turns kissing Abah, hug him, and when all is done, we placed him back on the carrier, to be carried inside the mosque. The main prayer hall was already filled with people. I could count up to 3-4 lines of Jemaah, standing by to perform solat jenazah for Abah.

This was actually my first time experiencing that after the prayer was done, they opened the carrier back, and those who haven't got the chance to see Abah, shall do so. The first to come forward was Along, then Angah, then Abg Mie, then Kak Farah, then I came in. As if we don't wanna let him go, I kissed Abah for the longest time, hugged him ever so tightly, and retreated back within the Jemaah circling Abah. Some familiar faces took turns, even Abah's old friends drove all the way from Sungai Buloh and god knows where just to pay their final respect to Abah. I saw Cik Pah, our long-standing almost bonded by blood ex-neighbor, who was super close to Mak and Abah, even called Abah and Mak as her younger siblings. She came slowly, looking at close distance, downwards at Abah, and quickly wiped her falling tears with her handkerchief. 

Some of my friends came too, to my surprise, and they felt the love of the people who came to visit Abah in that big prayer hall.

The Burial

Did you know that in that very cemetery, by the start of my parents moved in the township, all who passed away before them, were buried there. This would include Cik Ton's husband, dear Haji Ropi, our supposedly latest princess addition to the family was also buried there. Mak's best friend, Cik Laili, our dear Opah (Abah's paternal mom). And to our surprise, when we got there, Abah's final resting place, was on the same row as Opah's. 

The weather was clear, with no signs of rain. Along, Abg Mie, and I jumped in the grave, to carefully lay Abah in his final resting place. I embraced Abah's lower torso, gently snuck him in my hug, lowering the body together in sync with Along and Abg Mie, and mindfully placing the earth-balls, to support Abah's back, the side of the cheek as the pillow, and lastly, I arranged the wooden planks to cover Abah's up. I felt heaviest when arranging the final piece of wood. Once I cover it up, there's no more visual of Abah in his white shroud. That's it, it's time to fill up the grave, it's almost done. 

Abah's grave was slowly mounted with red soil. I watched from a distance, shaking off the remaining soil and dirt in my hair. Finding my bearing to stand still after the whole ordeal. We sat down near the grave, and the Imam starts the talqin.

"Dari dia kita datang, kepada dia kita kembali" the talqin was loud and clear. All who came scattered under the tree, sat in the nearby hut, just to get close, The imam finish it off with Al-Fatihah, and slowly, bit by bit, they disperse and left the cemetery. Some may head to our house to pay a visit to Mak, some may go straight home for a full rest of the weekend. 

The rest of us walked over to pay Opah a visit. 

"Lapan bulan je, dia panggil anak dia balik." Angah mouthed, which struck as deeply to us. Opah left us late July of last year, and now we had to say goodbye to Abah. As if they had promised to each other, that they wanna be this close, till hereafter. Then we walked over to our niece's grave.

To think of, how we were supposed to celebrate and welcome her, grandiosely. Show her all the love she could get from this beautiful unkempt, temporary unfair world, filled with hearts of balance love, and hatred.

I could never imagine how Mak is dealing with all this. She was so so strong. In between takes of lives, she lost her granddaughter, her best friend, her mother-in-law, and her lawfully wedded for 44 years of husband. 

"The eyes are shedding tears, and the heart is grieved, and we will not say except what pleases our Lord, O Ibrahim! Indeed we are grieved by your separation."

We shook hands with all the Jemaah, say our many thanks, and were grateful that they come and pay final respect and pray for my Abah. A few hugs were exchanged, and goodbyes for now.

The worst part of all this was, you have got to keep strong, chin up, keep a straight face at work, keep laughing off small jokes from your friends, and keep coming back home to the absence of the most prominent figure of the house. I know if I were ever to feel missing his presence, my mom would feel 10 times more devastatingly horrible. Between her and me, she lost the love of her life, her life partner, her lawful husband, and her shoulder to lean on. And I know for a fact that being completely alone in a quaint space, that feeling so vast it echoed. 

44 years of living with your significant other, and abruptly living without. Adapting is the cruelest part. But we all got roles to play, collecting our little strength to get back up. Keep moving forward, even though a little piece of ourselves, a little piece of myself, was still stuck on the glass doors of the ICU ward, looking in. Waiting for someone to wake me up from these horrid dreams, whispering it's all a fake scene, and my Abah stands well.

But I need to realize, that this solidity I'm projecting, is for my mom. Keep going strong, keep holding on for as long as I could, continue waking up every single day, and keep on being the youngest kid, even though I don't get to have a dad anymore. 😔

-to be continued.