Part 6 - The passing

Hi, and welcome back! Thank you all for continuing to read. If you’re new – welcome!

Following from my last post, I’m going to describe in detail what happening when my nani passed away.

إِنَّا لِلَّٰهِ وَإِنَّا إِلَيْهِ رَاجِعُونَ‎

Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un

Surely, we belong to Allah and to Him we will return.

Without further ado, I’ll begin…

My nani was staying at hospital a few days before the passing. My mum told me to be prepared to see my nani in a different way, no longer like the person I remembered. Her memory was quickly fading – was this the cancer spreading or the process of transitioning into the next world? Maybe, it was a little bit of both. When I visited the hospital, she had intermittent recollections of who I was. The family was in the process of getting her discharged to come home because the hospital was unable to help her anymore. It didn’t feel right for her to spending her last days in a hospital bed. With conversations, we were able to get her home the next day.

My nani was restless. With dhikr always on her lips, she was walking up and down with the support of everyone. She had reverted back to speaking French, her mother-tongue. Having spent time in Mauritius and in my grandparents’ company, I understand and speak some French, so I knew what was happening.

The night before my nani passed away. We were all sitting on my nani’s bed and I was holding her as she leant on my nana. I said to her “you still haven’t taught me how to cook.” My nani was the best cook, very adept at cooking traditional Mauritian food and the family’s secret recipes. She promised to teach me how to cook when the holidays came around. We began to talk about my grandparents’ relationship. I truly admire the connection they shared and I hope to have what they had when I get married, inshallah (if Allah wills). I hugged and kissed my nani at the end of the visit, promising to come back the next day. I didn’t know that would be the last time I would see her alive.

My nana said outside the room: “I would advise that you all do the night.” My nana was suggesting that we all help out during the night for the reason because we don’t know how long left we’ve got left with my nani. Sorry if this grosses any of the guys reading this, but it really shouldn’t because it’s the natural process of being a female. I got my period and I was still recovering from surgery, so I went home.

I heard in the morning that it wasn’t a great night, my nani’s condition worsening greatly. The worst night yet considering my nani’s restlessness. I had an odd feeling that day, relying on God for strength. As I was on my period, I was unable to read any Quran (Islam’s holy book), so I packed some dua books in my bag. I sat listening to the Quran on my way to uni, returning for the first time after my surgery. As the bus passed my grandparents’ house, I knew I would not be seeing my grandparents together for much longer. This was the first time I went to uni after a week. When I passed my grandparent’s house, I recall looking at it knowing I won’t have both my grandparent’s in a while.

The situation was really taking its toll on me, something not missed by my friends at uni. Emotionally and physically, I felt fragile. Something about that day really didn’t feel right. I had a nagging feeling that she would pass over the weekend. My nani had told me that I was to be among those to wash her body after she passed. I wasn’t ready for that to happen, refusing to get my funeral clothes ready. My nani told me who she would like to do the washing of the body. It was my mum, her sister, one of my cousins and me. I kept calling my mum throughout the day. I was told there were many guests that had come to see my nani that day, including a few imams.

As soon as I finished uni at 6pm, I intended to make my way home. What’s really bad about the uni buses, is it’s so unreliable and unpredictable. That bus goes at 5:45, even though everybody’s still in class till 6pm. Therefore, the next bus comes at 7pm and I had to wait. It wouldn’t be a big deal, if everything was okay at home.

I finally managed to get on the next bus home when my younger brother video-called me, uncontrollably crying and very distressed. He said my nani had passed. I was extremely shocked, unwilling to believe what he was telling me. He moved the camera to where she lay on her bed and it all seemed to be true. He told me to get there urgently. How was I supposed to get there while stuck in traffic? I’ve never felt more panicked in my entire life than I was in that moment.

Panicking, I called my closest friend and cried. I’ve never cried in front of someone before. I felt many emotions all at once: I felt guilty that I wasn’t there in that moment, that I unable to be there when she passed; I was frustrated that I had just managed to repair my relationship with my nani after the rocky family situation, and it had all come too late; I was upset and angry that I had spent my time at uni instead of being with her during her final hours. I just vented all this on the phone to my friend. I’m beyond grateful to my friend in that moment. She was there for me at a time when I needed someone the most.

I immediately ran to my grandparents’ house and I found it in a state of chaos. I walked into the sitting room where many people were gathered, but I had eyes only for my nani. I walked over to the bed where she lay, those gathered around her making room for me to approach. They were still saying the kalimah (formal declaration of faith). I touched her head and stroked her hair until she felt cold to touch. We didn’t know whether she had passed, but I felt she had gone before I arrived at the house.

My nani’s mahram’s (unmarriageable kin) moved away from the bed to allow for the women. Eventually, I was the only one still kneeling next to her bed. My whole life, I had always known where she was and now, I didn’t know. The imams (religious leader, the person who leads prayers in the mosque) said she was still among us and would be until the burial. Everyone was still talking to her, but I didn’t know what to say to her. I began to talk to God instead.

I wondered whether my cousins realised what had happened whilst they played together upstairs. Did they know she had passed? One of my younger cousins, suffering from autism, approached me and looking to my nani, she started to cry: “She’s gone. She has always been so good to me.” It broke my heart to see her come to that realisation, knowing how much my nani had protected and cared for her. I remember thinking how I blessed I was that I got 19 years with my nani, but these children were so young and wouldn’t get the same time as I did.

I went home with my brothers to get my funeral clothes. I wasn’t prepared for the funeral because I anticipated that I would have more time. Naturally, it wasn’t something I was ready to think about yet. We all arrived back at my grandparents’ house to wait for the death certificate to arrive. She passed away after maghrib (prayer that begins when the sun sets) on a Thursday night. For Muslims, this meant she passed away on the blessed Friday. As a head’s up, I will talk about the significance of a Friday Islamically in a future blog post – now going back to the post.

Once this was written, I went to bed, tired, in the early hours of the morning. The adults were up calling up family members about the passing and the details for the burial. It was strange to sleep at my grandparent’s house after years. It brought me back to when my nani used to come up and see me. She would make me read my kalimah. I swear, I felt her presence at that time. Islamically, her soul was still there and so it’s not hard to believe that she came upstairs to see me and my brother for the last time. Just this time we couldn’t have a proper conversation.

I kept hearing talk that the passing didn’t feel right. The doctor that had been called earlier in the evening when my nani’s condition had declined had practically overdosed her. My nani was forcefully administered an extra dose of medication to calm her nerves. She was made to lie down, despite the respiratory difficulties she experienced when laying on her back. My nani had a bad reaction and the doctor had hurriedly left the house before we could help her. We all believe my nani passed away because she had overdosed.

Suddenly, my nana talking on the phone when I had earlier entered the house now made sense. In all honesty, I don’t think he could bear to see my nani dying. The next morning, the nurses from the company came, but my nana had hidden the injection the doctor had left in a yellow box. He wanted to keep it to build a case against the company for what they had done to my nani. Everyone believed it was completely beyond the usual regulations.

We washed the body in the early morning at Palmer’s Green Mosque. This was not at our local Mosque in North Finchley because they don’t have the facilities to wash the body. How my nani appeared I won’t and can’t speak about. I was on my period, so I wasn’t able to touch her. Nevertheless, I was present in the room. Previously, I was scared to wash the body. However, I remembered how my nani said don’t be scared of her. I didn’t feel scared of her – she was just my nani. However, the process of preparing her for the next life made me desperate to talk to God, to find some strength. I couldn’t read the Quran and I couldn’t pray. I felt as though I was being punished by God for something I had done. I had to remind myself that this wasn’t the case and that it was just unfortunate timing. If God wanted to, He could have changed when my period came. However, He is the best of planners and I must carry on with whatever He chooses for me.

Everybody prayed jummah (the Friday prayer which takes the place of zuhr prayer) prayer, except those like me. I was at the back of the hall with my younger girl cousins. There was the announcement that there had been two deaths. One being my nani. They announce the names for those to pray for the deceased and for the men to possibly participate in the burial. For the first time since I talked to my friend over the phone the previous day, I cried. It was my cousins who comforted me.

It was weird seeing so much family at the mosque. Family were saying: “I’m sorry for your loss, may Allah grant her the Jannah Firdaus (the highest level of Heaven)” and “we knew how much she loved her grandchildren – she would always speak about you.” I understand that they’re trying to be nice, showing their condolences, but honestly it hurt. To me, the less people to know, the more able I could deal. That’s me, and that’s how it’s always been. However, my nani’s soul will benefit the more people who come to the burial.

In Islam, women aren’t normally present for actual burials because they are considered to be more emotional compared to me. Perhaps, seeing their loved one buried would be too much for them to handle. I was glad that my first visit to a cemetery was for my nani. I always imagined cemeteries to appear dark and scary. However, Foley Lane cemetery is, dare I say, peaceful.

Women must stand behind the men. It’s the men who conduct the burial. We had a good spot at the cemetery. The women could watch the burial without physically standing on the same dirt which is being used to cover my nani because her spot is right next to the pathway of cars and people walking.

Nonetheless, it felt surreal watching my nani lowered into the ground by my older brother and uncle, the dirt covering what we had just washed. I had only been speaking and holding her a few hours ago. Now, I could never do that again. This was the biggest shock to my system. One say we were here and all that can change so quickly. Suddenly, we are moving into the next life, behind held accountable for our actions in life.

We felt sad leaving my nani at the cemetery. In Islam, once the body has been buried, her physical body remains there. Before, her soul was around, but as soon as the last person leaves the burial, her soul is no longer with us. For the first time, we had left her by herself somewhere. My nana said wanted to be alone with her before he left. It was sad to watch him leave his life partner and embark on his journey alone.

I’ve always tried to be the best version of myself, but I have learnt to value my relationships with God even more since my nani passed. God placed my nani in my life and blessed me with 19 years and 4 months to spend with her. I will never take God for granted. Each time I set forth on the namaz (prayer) mat, read the Quran or read the kalimah at night, I am grateful and welcome the hardships and suffering that God gives me. It enables me to build my relationship with Him and increase in spirituality for the permanent akhirah (the afterlife).

After the funeral and burial, we all went back to my grandparents’ house and sat down to eat. I don’t think I had eaten anything for more than a day. I felt strange not eating with my nani. We would all sit down to eat before she had fallen ill and we had been feeding her for months during her illness. Now she was all alone for the first time. She was somewhere else where we couldn’t reach her and it was completely unfathomable to all of the family.

Even though the burial has passed over, Muslims do prayers for the dead. In Islam, it is said that we mourn for 40 days. I will go through this further in my next post. Hope to see you there!

Love,

Shanaz Xx