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Far7an
04-21-2005, 11:53 AM
She's My Sister
A true story translated by Muhammad Al-Shareef.

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Her cheeks were worn and sunken and her skin hugged her bones. That didn't stop her though, you could never catch her not reciting Qur'an. Always vigil in her personal prayer room Dad had set up for her. Bowing, prostrating, raising her hands in prayer. That was the way she was from dawn to sunset and back again, boredom was for others.

As for me I craved nothing more than fashion magazines and novels. I treated myself all the time to videos until those trips to the rental place became my trademark. As they say, when something becomes habit people tend to distinguish you by it. I was negligent in my responsibilities and laziness characterized my Salah.

One night, I turned the video off after a marathon three hours of watching. The adhan softly rose in that quiet night. I slipped peacefully into my blanket.

Her voice carried from her prayer room. "Yes? Would you like anything Noorah?"
With a sharp needle she popped my plans. 'Don't sleep before you pray Fajr!'
"Agh ... there's still an hour before Fajr, that was only the first Adhaan!"

With those loving pinches of hers, she called me closer. She was always like that, even before the fierce sickness shook her spirit and shut her in bed.

'Hanan can you come sit beside me.'

I could never refuse any of her requests, you could touch the purity and sincerity.
"Yes, Noorah?"

'Please sit here.'

"OK, I'm sitting. What's on your mind?"

With the sweetest mono voice she began reciting:

[Every soul shall taste death and you will merely be repaid your earnings on Resurrection Day]

She stopped thoughtfully. Then she asked, 'Do you believe in death?'

"Of course I do."

'Do you believe that you shall be responsible for whatever you do, regardless of how small or large?'

"I do, but … Allah is Forgiving and Merciful and I've got a long life waiting for me."

'Stop it Hanan ... aren't you afraid of death and it's abruptness? Look at Hind. She was younger than you but she died in a car accident. So did so and so, and so and so. Death is age-blind and your age could never be a measure of when you shall die.'

The darkness of the room filled my skin with fear. "I'm scared of the dark and now you made me scared of death, how am I supposed to go to sleep now. Noorah, I thought you promised you'd go with us on vacation during the summer break."

Impact. Her voice broke and her heart quivered. 'I might be going on a long trip this year Hanan, but somewhere else. Just maybe. All of our lives are in Allah's hands and we all belong to Him.'

My eyes welled and the tears slipped down both cheeks.

I pondered my sisters grizzly sickness, how the doctors had informed my father privately that there was not much hope that Noorah was going to outlive the disease. She wasn't told though. Who hinted to her? Or was it that she could sense the truth.

'What are you thinking about Hanan?' Her voice was sharp. 'Do you think I am just saying this because I am sick? Uh - uh. In fact, I may live longer than people who are not sick. And you Hanan, how long are you going to live? Twenty years, maybe? Forty? Then what?' Through the dark she reached for my hand and squeezed gently. 'There's no difference between us; we're all going to leave this world to live in Paradise or agonize in Hell. Listen to the words of Allah:

[Anyone who is pushed away from the Fire and shown into Jannah will have triumphed.]

I left my sister's room dazed, her words ringing in my ears: May Allah guide you Hanan - don't forget your prayer.

Eight O'clock in the morning. Pounding on my door. I don't usually wake up at this time. Crying. Confusion. O Allah, what happened?

Noorahs condition became critical after Fajr, they took her immediately to the hospital ... Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un.

There wasn't going to be any trips this summer. It was written that I would spend the summer at home.

After an eternity...

It was one O'clock in the afternoon. Mother phoned the hospital. 'Yes. You can come and see her now.' Dad's voice had changed, mother could sense something had gone deathly wrong. We left immediately.

Where was that avenue I used to travel and thought was so short? Why was it so long now, so very long. Where was the cherished crowd and traffic that would give me a chance to gaze left and right. Everyone, just move out of our way. Mother was shaking her head in her hands - crying - as she made dua' for her Noorah.

We arrived at the hospitals main entrance.

One man was moaning, another was involved in an accident and a third's eyes were iced, you couldn't tell if he was alive or dead.

We skipped stairs to Noorahs floor. She was in intensive care.

The nurse approached us. 'Let me take you to her.' As we walked down the aisles the nurse went on expressing how sweet a girl Noorah was. She reassured Mother somewhat that Noorah's condition had gotten better than what it was in the morning.
'Sorry. No more than one visitor at a time.' This was the intensive care unit. Through the small window in the door and past the flurry of white robes I caught my sisters eyes. Mother was standing beside her. After two minutes, mother came out unable to control her crying.

'You may enter and say Salam to her on condition that you do not speak too long,' they told me. 'Two minutes should be enough.'

"How are you Noorah? You were fine last night sister, what happened?"
We held hands, she squeezed harmlessly. 'Even now, Alhamdulillah, I'm doing fine.'
"Alhamdulillah ... but ... your hands are so cold."

I sat on her bedside and rested my fingers on her knee. She jerked it away.

"Sorry ... did I hurt you?"

"No, it is just that I remembered Allah's words

[One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud)]

... Hanan pray for me. I may be meeting the first day of the hearafter very soon. It is a long journey and I haven't prepared enough good deeds in my suitcase.'

A tear escaped my eye and ran down my cheek at her words. I cried and she joined me. The room blurred away and left us - two sisters - to cry together. Rivulets of tears splashed down on my sister's palm which I held with both hands. Dad was now becoming more worried about me. I've never cried like that before.

At home and upstairs in my room, I watched the sun pass away with a sorrowful day. Silence mingled in our corridors. A cousin came in my room, another. The visitors were many and all the voices from downstairs stirred together. Only one thing was clear at that point ... Noorah had died!

I stopped distinguishing who came and who went. I couldn't remember what they said. O Allah, where was I? What was going on? I couldn't even cry anymore.

Later that week they told me what had happened. Dad had taken my hand to say goodbye to my sister for the last time, I had kissed Noorah's head.

I remember only one thing though, seeing her spread on that bed, the bed that she was going to die on. I remembered the verse she recited:

[One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud)] and I knew too well the truth of the next verse: [The drive on that day we be to your Lord (Allah)!]

I tiptoed into her prayer room that night. Staring at the quiet dressers and silenced mirrors, I treasured who it was that had shared my mother's stomach with me. Noorah was my twin sister.

I remembered who I had swapped sorrows with. Who had comforted my rainy days. I remembered who had prayed for my guidance and who had spent so many tears for so many long nights telling me about death and accountability. May Allah save us all.

Tonight is Noorah's first night that she shall spend in her tomb. O Allah, have mercy on her and illumine her grave. This was her Qur'an, her prayer mat and …and this was the spring rose-colored dress that she told me she would hide until she got married, the dress she wanted to keep just for her husband.

I remembered my sister and cried over all the days that I had lost. I prayed to Allah to have mercy on me, accept me and forgive me. I prayed to Allah to keep her firm in her grave as she always liked to mention in her supplications.

At that moment, I stopped. I asked myself: what if it was I who had died? Where would I be moving on to? Fear pressed me and the tears began all over again.
Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar...

The first adhan rose softly from the Masjid, how beautiful it sounded this time. I felt calm and relaxed as I repeated the Muadhdhins call. I wrapped the shawl around my shoulders and stood to pray Fajr. I prayed as if it was my last prayer, a farewell prayer, just like Noorah had done yesterday. It had been her last Fajr.

Now and in sha' Allah for the rest of my life, if I awake in the mornings I do not count on being alive by evening, and in the evening I do not count on being alive by morning.
We are all going on Noorah's journey - what have we prepared for it?
Reply

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MetSudaisTwice
04-21-2005, 11:54 AM
mashallah bro farhan a great story. keep ip all the good work
Reply

Ra`eesah
04-21-2005, 11:55 AM
Assalamu'Alaykum

Mashallah.. jazakallah for sharing. it was a reminder.
Reply

Far7an
04-21-2005, 11:59 AM
Wa eyakum

May Allah guide us all, Ameen
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Z
04-21-2005, 12:00 PM
Asalamu Alaikum

Ameen.
Reply

Far7an
04-21-2005, 12:07 PM
I prayed as if it was my last prayer, a farewell prayer, just like Noorah had done yesterday. It had been her last Fajr.
:'(, Subhanallah
Reply

Ibn Abi Ahmed
04-21-2005, 12:47 PM
Subhanallah brother . Nice story :D a good reminder. though i think i read it somewhere before.
Reply

Uma Rayanah
04-21-2005, 07:15 PM
Jazaaka Allahu Khair
Reply

Mou'minah
04-22-2005, 02:25 AM
:sl:

Subhanallah! A touching story. Jazakhallahu Khair
Reply

Far7an
05-10-2005, 04:38 PM
Assalamu alaikum warahmatullahi wabarakatuh

This is an amazing story for those who have not already read it :)
Reply

S_87
05-10-2005, 05:13 PM
:sl:
ive read that story so many times and can read it many times more
its so ... :'( the way it were written
Reply

~fUrRrI~
05-13-2005, 02:29 PM
subhan'Allah!
nevr read it b4...it reallly does touch u
Reply

dorky niqabi
03-26-2006, 11:02 PM
Asalamu alaikum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu,

I don't know if this has been posted before, but i searched, and it didn't come up, so...

She's My Sister

A true story translated by Muhammad Alshareef

Her cheeks were worn and sunken and her skin hugged her bones. That didn't stop her though, you could never catch her not reciting Qur'an. Always vigil in her personal prayer room Dad had set up for her. Bowing, prostrating, raising her hands in prayer. That was the way she was from dawn to sunset and back again, boredom was for others.

As for me I craved nothing more than fashion magazines and novels. I treated myself all the time to videos until those trips to the rental place became my trademark. As they say, when something becomes habit people tend to distinguish you by it. I was negligent in my responsibilities and laziness characterized my Salah.

One night, I turned the video off after a marathon three hours of watching. The adhan softly rose in that quiet night. I slipped peacefully into my blanket.

Her voice carried from her prayer room. "Yes? Would you like anything Noorah?" I said.

With a sharp needle she popped my plans. "Don't sleep before you pray Fajr!"

Agh...there's still an hour before Fajr, that was only the first Adhaan!

With those loving pinches of hers, she called me closer. She was always like that, even before the fierce sickness shook her spirit and shut her in bed. "Hanan can you come sit beside me."

I could never refuse any of her requests, you could touch the purity and sincerity. "Yes, Noorah?"

"Please sit here."

"OK, I"m sitting. What's on your mind?"

With the sweetest mono voice she began reciting:

"Every soul shall taste death and you will merely be repaid your earnings on Resurrection Day"

She stopped thoughtfully. Then she asked, "Do you believe in death?"

"Of course I do."

"Do you believe that you shall be responsible for whatever you do, regardless of how small or large?"

"I do, but Allah is Forgiving and Merciful and I^Òve got a long life waiting for me."

"Stop it Hanan ... aren't you afraid of death and it's abruptness? Look at Hind. She was younger than you but she died in a car accident. So did so and so, and so and so. Death is age-blind and your age could never be a measure of when you shall die."

The darkness of the room filled my skin with fear. "I'm scared of the dark and now you made me scared of death, how am I supposed to go to sleep now. Noorah, I thought you promised you'd go with us on vacation during the summer break."

Impact. Her voice broke and her heart quivered. "I might be going on a long trip this year Hanan, but somewhere else. Just maybe. All of our lives are in Allah^Òs hands and we all belong to Him."

My eyes welled and the tears slipped down both cheeks.

I pondered my sisters grizzly sickness, how the doctors had informed my father privately that there was not much hope that Noorah was going to outlive the disease. She wasn't told though. Who hinted to her? Or was it that she could sense the truth.

"What are you thinking about Hanan?" Her voice was sharp. "Do you think I am just saying this because I am sick? Uh - uh. In fact, I may live longer than people who are not sick. And you Hanan, how long are you going to live? Twenty years, maybe? Forty? Then what?" Through the dark she reached for my hand and squeezed gently. "There's no difference between us; we're all going to leave this world to live in Paradise or agonize in Hell. Listen to the words of Allah:

"Anyone who is pushed away from the Fire and shown into Jannah will have triumphed."

I left my sister's room dazed, her words ringing in my ears: May Allah guide you Hanan - don't forget your prayer.

Eight O'clock in the morning. Pounding on my door. I don't usually wake up at this time. Crying. Confusion. O Allah, what happened?

Noorahs condition became critical after Fajr, they took her immediately to the hospital ... Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un.

There wasn't going to be any trips this summer. It was written that I would spend the summer at home.

After an eternity...

It was one O'clock in the afternoon. Mother phoned the hospital. "Yes. You can come and see her now." Dad's voice had changed, mother could sense something had gone deathly wrong. We left immediately.

Where was that avenue I used to travel and thought was so short? Why was it so long now, so very long. Where was the cherished crowd and traffic that would give me a chance to gaze left and right. Everyone, just move out of our way. Mother was shaking her head in her hands crying as she made dua'a for her Noorah.

We arrived at the hospitals main entrance.

One man was moaning, another was involved in an accident and a third^Òs eyes were iced, you couldn^Òt tell if he was alive or dead.

We skipped stairs to Noorahs floor. She was in intensive care.

The nurse approached us. "Let me take you to her." As we walked down the aisles the nurse went on expressing how sweet a girl Noorah was. She reassured Mother somewhat that Noorah^Òs condition had gotten better than what it was in the morning.

"Sorry. No more than one visitor at a time." This was the intensive care unit. Through the small window in the door and past the flurry of white robes I caught my sisters eyes. Mother was standing beside her. After two minutes, mother came out unable to control her crying.

"You may enter and say Salam to her on condition that you do not speak too long," they told me. "Two minutes should be enough."

"How are you Noorah? You were fine last night sister, what happened?"

We held hands, she squeezed harmlessly. "Even now, Alhamdulillah, I'm doing fine."

"Alhamdulillah...but...your hands are so cold."

I sat on her bedside and rested my fingers on her knee. She jerked it away. "Sorry ... did I hurt you?"

"No, it is just that I remembered Allah's words

One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud)

{waltafatul saaqu bil saaq}

"Hanan pray for me. I may be meeting the first day of the hearafter very soon. It is a long journey and I haven't prepared enough good deeds in my suitcase."

A tear escaped my eye and ran down my cheek at her words. I cried and she joined me. The room blurred away and left us ^Ö two sisters - to cry together. Rivulets of tears splashed down on my sister^Òs palm which I held with both hands. Dad was now becoming more worried about me. I've never cried like that before.

At home and upstairs in my room, I watched the sun pass away with a sorrowful day. Silence mingled in our corridors. A cousin came in my room, another. The visitors were many and all the voices from downstairs stirred together. Only one thing was clear at that point ... Noorah had died!

I stopped distinguishing who came and who went. I couldn't remember what they said. O Allah, where was I? What was going on? I couldn't even cry anymore.

Later that week they told me what had happened. Dad had taken my hand to say goodbye to my sister for the last time, I had kissed Noorah's head.

I remember only one thing though, seeing her spread on that bed, the bed that she was going to die on. I remembered the verse she recited:

"One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud)" and I knew too well the truth of the next verse: "The drive on that day we be to your Lord (Allah)!"

I tiptoed into her prayer room that night. Staring at the quiet dressers and silenced mirrors, I treasured who it was that had shared my mother's stomach with me. Noorah was my twin sister.

I remembered who I had swapped sorrows with. Who had comforted my rainy days. I remembered who had prayed for my guidance and who had spent so many tears for so many long nights telling me about death and accountability. May Allah save us all.

Tonight is Noorah's first night that she shall spend in her tomb. O Allah, have mercy on her and illumine her grave. This was her Qur'an, her prayer mat and this was the spring rose-colored dress that she told me she would hide until she got married, the dress she wanted to keep just for her husband.

I remembered my sister and cried over all the days that I had lost. I prayed to Allah to have mercy on me, accept me and forgive me. I prayed to Allah to keep her firm in her grave as she always liked to mention in her supplications.

At that moment, I stopped. I asked myself: what if it was I who had died? Where would I be moving on to? Fear pressed me and the tears began all over again.

Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar...

The first adhan rose softly from the Masjid, how beautiful it sounded this time. I felt calm and relaxed as I repeated the Muadhdhins call. I wrapped the shawl around my shoulders and stood to pray Fajr. I prayed as if it was my last prayer, a farewell prayer, just like Noorah had done yesterday. It had been her last Fajr.

Now and insha' Allah for the rest of my life, if I awake in the mornings I do not count on being alive by evening, and in the evening I do not count on being alive by morning.

We are all going on Noorah's journey. What have we prepared for it?
Reply

sapphire
03-26-2006, 11:18 PM
:'(:'(:'(:'(:'(

subhanallah ! jazakallah for sharing tht ! its truly touching..........
Reply

Snowflake
03-26-2006, 11:45 PM
inna lillahi wa inna alaihi raji'oon :( may Allah give us all hidayah. Ameen.
Reply

Guli7
03-27-2006, 06:08 AM
so sad and a great message. thanks for sharing!
Reply

------
03-27-2006, 02:00 PM
I'm normally not a person who's sensitive but...

..

..

..

..

..

..

..

:'( :'( :'( That was beautiful! :'( :'( :'(
Reply

Sister_6038
03-27-2006, 02:02 PM
.....i felt the tears both in my heart and streaming down my cheeks...
Reply

MetSudaisTwice
03-27-2006, 02:03 PM
salam
inna nillahi wa inna ilayhi ra jioon
a very touching post
wasalam
Reply

hidaayah
03-27-2006, 02:05 PM
:sl:
read this a long time ago..!! its awesome..!!!! Mashallah..!!
Reply

Protected_Diamond
06-06-2006, 01:14 AM
:sl:

Her cheeks were worn and sunken, and her skin hugged her bones. That didn't stop her because you could never catch her not reciting Qur'an. She was always vigil in her personal prayer room that our father had set up for her. Bowing, prostrating, raising her hands in prayer, was the way she was from dawn to sunset and back again; boredom was for other people.
As for me, I craved nothing more than fashion magazines and novels. I treated myself to videos until the trips to the rental place became my trademark. It’s a saying that when something becomes habit, people tend to distinguish you by it. I was negligent in my responsibilities and my salah was characterized by laziness.

One night, after a long three hours of watching, I turned the video off. The adhan rose softly in the quiet night. I slipped peacefully into my blanket.

Her voice called me from her prayer room. "Yes? Would you like anything Noorah?" I asked.

With a sharp needle she popped my plans. "Don't sleep before you pray Fajr!"

Agghh! “There's still an hour before Fajr. That was only the first adhan,” I said.

With those loving pinches of hers, she called me closer. She was like that even before the fierce sickness shook her spirit and shut her in bed. "Hanan, can you come sit beside me."

I could never refuse any of her requests; you could touch the purity and sincerity in her. "Yes, Noorah?"

"Please sit here."

"Alright, I’m sitting. What's on your mind?"

With the sweetest mono voice she began reciting:

Every soul shall taste death and you will merely be repaid your earnings on the Day of Resurrection.

She stopped thoughtfully. Then she asked, "Do you believe in death?"

"Of course I do,” I replied.

"Do you believe that you shall be responsible for whatever you do, regardless of how small or large?"

"I do, but Allah is Forgiving and Merciful, and I’ve got a long life waiting for me."

"Stop it Hanan! Are you not afraid of death and its abruptness? Take a look at Hind. She was younger than you but she died in a car accident. Death is age-blind and your age could never be a measure of when you shall die."

The darkness of the room filled my skin with fear. "I'm scared of the dark and now you made me scared of death. How am I supposed to go to sleep now? Noorah, I thought you promised you'd go with us on vacation during the summer break."

Her voice broke and her heart quivered. "I might be going on a long trip this year Hanan, but somewhere else. All of our lives are in Allah’s hands and we all belong to Him."

My eyes welled and the tears slipped down both cheeks. I pondered my sisters grizzly sickness. The doctors had informed my father in private that there was not much hope Noorah was going to outlive the disease. She wasn't told, so I wondered who hinted to her. Or was it that she could sense the truth?

"What are you thinking about Hanan?" Her voice was sharp. "Do you think I am just saying this because I am sick? I hope not. In fact, I may live longer than people who are not sick. How long are you going to live Hanan? Perhaps twenty years? Maybe forty? Then what?" Through the dark she reached for my hand and squeezed gently. "There's no difference between us; we're all going to leave this world to live in Paradise or agonize in Hell. Listen to the words of Allah:

Anyone who is pushed away from the Fire and shown into Jannah will have triumphed.

I left my sister's room dazed, her words ringing in my ears: “May Allah guide you Hanan - don't forget your prayer.”

I heard pounding on my door at eight o'clock in the morning. I don't usually wake up at this time. There was crying and confusion. O Allah, what happened?

Noorah’s condition became critical after Fajr; they took her to the hospital immediately.

Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'oon.

There wasn't going to be any trips this summer. It was written that I would spend the summer at home.

It felt like an eternity had gone by when it was one o'clock in the afternoon. Mother phoned the hospital.

"Yes. You can come and see her now." Dad's voice had changed, and mother could sense something had gone deathly wrong. We left immediately.

Where was that avenue I used to travel and thought was so short? Why was it so very long now? Where was the cherished crowd and traffic that would give me a chance to gaze left and right? Everyone, just move out of our way!

Mother was shaking her head in her hands crying as she made du'a for her Noorah. We arrived at the hospital’s main entrance. One man was moaning, while another was involved in an accident. A third man’s eyes were iced. You couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive.

Noorah was in intensive care. We skipped stairs to her floor. The nurse approached us. "Let me take you to her."

As we walked down the aisles the nurse went on expressing how sweet of a girl Noorah was. She somewhat reassured Mother that Noorah’s condition had gotten better than what it was in the morning. "Sorry. No more than one visitor at a time,” the nurse said.

This was the intensive care unit. Past the flurry white robes, through the small window in the door, I caught my sister’s eyes. Mother was standing beside her. After about two minutes, mother came out unable to control her crying. "You may enter and say salaam to her on the condition that you do not speak too long," they told me. "Two minutes should be enough."

"How are you Noorah? You were fine last night sister, what happened?"

We held hands; she squeezed harmlessly. "Even now, alhamdulillah, I'm doing fine."

"Alhamdulillah...but...your hands are so cold."

I sat on her bedside and rested my fingers on her knee. She jerked it away. "Sorry, did I hurt you?"

"No, it is just that I remembered Allah's words.”

Waltafatul saaqu bil saaq (One leg will be wrapped to the other leg [in the death shroud]).

"Hanan pray for me. I may be meeting the first day of the Hereafter very soon. It’s a long journey and I haven't prepared enough good deeds in my suitcase."

A tear escaped my eye and ran down my cheek at her words. I cried and she joined me. The room blurred away and left us two sisters to cry together. Rivulets of tears splashed down on my sister’s palm, which I held with both hands. Dad was now becoming more worried about me. I've never cried like that before.

At home and upstairs in my room, I watched the sun pass away with a sorrowful day. Silence mingled in our corridors. One after another, my cousins came in my room. The visitors were many and all the voices from downstairs stirred together. Only one thing was clear at that point – Noorah had died!

I stopped distinguishing who came and who went. I couldn't remember what they said. O Allah, where was I? What was going on? I couldn't even cry anymore.

Later that week they told me what had happened. Dad had taken my hand to say goodbye to my sister for the last time. I had kissed Noorah's head.

I remember only one thing while seeing her spread on that bed – the bed that she was going to die on. I remembered the verse she recited:

One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud).

And I knew too well the truth of the next verse:

The drive on that day will be to your Lord (Allah)!

I tiptoed into her prayer room that night. Staring at the quiet dressers and silenced mirrors, I treasured the person that had shared my mother's stomach with me. Noorah was my twin sister.

I remembered who I had swapped sorrows with, who comforted my rainy days. I remembered who prayed for my guidance and who spent so many tears for many long nights telling me about death and accountability. May Allah save us all.

Tonight is Noorah's first night that she shall spend in her tomb. O Allah, have mercy on her and illumine her grave. This was her Qur'an and her prayer mat. And this was the spring, rose-colored dress that she told me she would hide until she got married; the dress she wanted to keep just for her husband.

I remembered my sister and cried over all the days that I had lost. I prayed to Allah to have mercy on me, accept me and forgive me. I prayed to Allah to keep her firm in her grave as she always liked to mention in her supplications.

At that moment, I stopped. I asked myself what if it was I who had died. Where would I be moving on to? Fear pressed me and the tears began all over again.

“Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar…” The first adhan rose softly from the masjid. It sounded so beautiful this time. I felt calm and relaxed as I repeated the mu’adhin’s call. I wrapped the shawl around my shoulders and stood to pray Fajr. I prayed as if it was my last prayer, a farewell prayer, just like Noorah had done yesterday. It had been her last Fajr.

Now, and in sha Allah for the rest of my life, if I awake in the morning I do not count on being alive by evening, and in the evening I do not count on being alive by morning. We are all going on Noorah's journey. What have we prepared for it?

by Muhammad Alshareef

:w:
Reply

Umm Yoosuf
06-06-2006, 02:10 PM
Threads merged.
Reply

Shukria
06-06-2006, 02:18 PM
Salam
Has any1 got da link for da audio?
Jazakullah in advance
Wasalam
Reply

SilentAssassin
06-06-2006, 08:57 PM
what a great story.
Reply

Kidman
06-06-2006, 09:07 PM
Wowww... i never heard that before, makes you think a lot... hopefully i can get back to work, lol.
Reply

wafa islam
06-07-2006, 07:13 AM
Subhana Allah 'il-'Adheem

What a reminder, amazing story!

:wasalamex
Reply

hidden_treasure
06-08-2006, 12:57 PM
assalamu alaikum,

masha Allah, ...death is the destoyer of all pleasures...may we all learn something from this ...ameen.
Reply

afriend2
06-19-2006, 07:36 PM
Salaam,

listen to this inshAllah and tell me what you think......it is such an emotional story!

wassalam :peace:
Reply

bint_muhammed
06-21-2006, 09:37 PM
sooo beautiful! and sad!
Reply

muamena
06-23-2006, 04:07 AM
Bismillah
:w:

subhanaAllah .. so very sad :( but yet beautiful

JazakAllah khair for posting this siter!

:sl:
Reply

Taqiyah
06-23-2006, 04:20 AM
Wow! Masha Allah. Thank u very much sister this just reminded me I didn't pray Isha yet. Gotta go....thanks again Allah will reward u for posting such a inspiring story.
Reply

muamena
06-23-2006, 05:13 AM
Bismillah
:sl:

i would like to share this with others .. is this online anywhere? or anyone know of a site where i can upload the file to?

:w:
Reply

Star
06-22-2007, 02:03 PM
She's my sister by Muhammad Alshareef

i know this is a really long thread, but take time to read it, it has a good message. very sad though :cry:

Her cheeks were worn and sunken, and her skin hugged her bones. That didn't stop her because you could never catch her not reciting Qur'an. She was always vigil in her personal prayer room that our father had set up for her. Bowing, prostrating, raising her hands in prayer, was the way she was from dawn to sunset and back again; boredom was for other people.

As for me, I craved nothing more than fashion magazines and novels. I treated myself to videos until the trips to the rental place became my trademark. It’s a saying that when something becomes habit, people tend to distinguish you by it. I was negligent in my responsibilities and my salah was characterized by laziness.

One night, after a long three hours of watching, I turned the video off. The adhan rose softly in the quiet night. I slipped peacefully into my blanket.

Her voice called me from her prayer room. "Yes? Would you like anything Noorah?" I asked.

With a sharp needle she popped my plans. "Don't sleep before you pray Fajr!"

Agghh! “There's still an hour before Fajr. That was only the first adhan,” I said.

With those loving pinches of hers, she called me closer. She was like that even before the fierce sickness shook her spirit and shut her in bed. "Hanan, can you come sit beside me."

I could never refuse any of her requests; you could touch the purity and sincerity in her. "Yes, Noorah?"

"Please sit here."

"Alright, I’m sitting. What's on your mind?"

With the sweetest mono voice she began reciting:

Every soul shall taste death and you will merely be repaid your earnings on the Day of Resurrection.

She stopped thoughtfully. Then she asked, "Do you believe in death?"

"Of course I do,” I replied.

"Do you believe that you shall be responsible for whatever you do, regardless of how small or large?"

"I do, but Allah is Forgiving and Merciful, and I’ve got a long life waiting for me."

"Stop it Hanan! Are you not afraid of death and its abruptness? Take a look at Hind. She was younger than you but she died in a car accident. Death is age-blind and your age could never be a measure of when you shall die."

The darkness of the room filled my skin with fear. "I'm scared of the dark and now you made me scared of death. How am I supposed to go to sleep now? Noorah, I thought you promised you'd go with us on vacation during the summer break."

Her voice broke and her heart quivered. "I might be going on a long trip this year Hanan, but somewhere else. All of our lives are in Allah’s hands and we all belong to Him."

My eyes welled and the tears slipped down both cheeks. I pondered my sisters grizzly sickness. The doctors had informed my father in private that there was not much hope Noorah was going to outlive the disease. She wasn't told, so I wondered who hinted to her. Or was it that she could sense the truth?

"What are you thinking about Hanan?" Her voice was sharp. "Do you think I am just saying this because I am sick? I hope not. In fact, I may live longer than people who are not sick. How long are you going to live Hanan? Perhaps twenty years? Maybe forty? Then what?" Through the dark she reached for my hand and squeezed gently. "There's no difference between us; we're all going to leave this world to live in Paradise or agonize in Hell. Listen to the words of Allah:

Anyone who is pushed away from the Fire and shown into Jannah will have triumphed.

I left my sister's room dazed, her words ringing in my ears: “May Allah guide you Hanan - don't forget your prayer.”

I heard pounding on my door at eight o'clock in the morning. I don't usually wake up at this time. There was crying and confusion. O Allah, what happened?

Noorah’s condition became critical after Fajr; they took her to the hospital immediately.

Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'oon.

There wasn't going to be any trips this summer. It was written that I would spend the summer at home.

It felt like an eternity had gone by when it was one o'clock in the afternoon. Mother phoned the hospital.

"Yes. You can come and see her now." Dad's voice had changed, and mother could sense something had gone deathly wrong. We left immediately.

Where was that avenue I used to travel and thought was so short? Why was it so very long now? Where was the cherished crowd and traffic that would give me a chance to gaze left and right? Everyone, just move out of our way!

Mother was shaking her head in her hands crying as she made du'a for her Noorah. We arrived at the hospital’s main entrance. One man was moaning, while another was involved in an accident. A third man’s eyes were iced. You couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive.

Noorah was in intensive care. We skipped stairs to her floor. The nurse approached us. "Let me take you to her."

As we walked down the aisles the nurse went on expressing how sweet of a girl Noorah was. She somewhat reassured Mother that Noorah’s condition had gotten better than what it was in the morning. "Sorry. No more than one visitor at a time,” the nurse said.

This was the intensive care unit. Past the flurry white robes, through the small window in the door, I caught my sister’s eyes. Mother was standing beside her. After about two minutes, mother came out unable to control her crying. "You may enter and say salaam to her on the condition that you do not speak too long," they told me. "Two minutes should be enough."

"How are you Noorah? You were fine last night sister, what happened?"

We held hands; she squeezed harmlessly. "Even now, alhamdulillah, I'm doing fine."

"Alhamdulillah...but...your hands are so cold."

I sat on her bedside and rested my fingers on her knee. She jerked it away. "Sorry, did I hurt you?"

"No, it is just that I remembered Allah's words.”

Waltafatul saaqu bil saaq (One leg will be wrapped to the other leg [in the death shroud]).

"Hanan pray for me. I may be meeting the first day of the Hereafter very soon. It’s a long journey and I haven't prepared enough good deeds in my suitcase."

A tear escaped my eye and ran down my cheek at her words. I cried and she joined me. The room blurred away and left us two sisters to cry together. Rivulets of tears splashed down on my sister’s palm, which I held with both hands. Dad was now becoming more worried about me. I've never cried like that before.

At home and upstairs in my room, I watched the sun pass away with a sorrowful day. Silence mingled in our corridors. One after another, my cousins came in my room. The visitors were many and all the voices from downstairs stirred together. Only one thing was clear at that point – Noorah had died!

I stopped distinguishing who came and who went. I couldn't remember what they said. O Allah, where was I? What was going on? I couldn't even cry anymore.

Later that week they told me what had happened. Dad had taken my hand to say goodbye to my sister for the last time. I had kissed Noorah's head.

I remember only one thing while seeing her spread on that bed – the bed that she was going to die on. I remembered the verse she recited:

One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud).

And I knew too well the truth of the next verse:

The drive on that day will be to your Lord (Allah)!

I tiptoed into her prayer room that night. Staring at the quiet dressers and silenced mirrors, I treasured the person that had shared my mother's stomach with me. Noorah was my twin sister.

I remembered who I had swapped sorrows with, who comforted my rainy days. I remembered who prayed for my guidance and who spent so many tears for many long nights telling me about death and accountability. May Allah save us all.

Tonight is Noorah's first night that she shall spend in her tomb. O Allah, have mercy on her and illumine her grave. This was her Qur'an and her prayer mat. And this was the spring, rose-colored dress that she told me she would hide until she got married; the dress she wanted to keep just for her husband.

I remembered my sister and cried over all the days that I had lost. I prayed to Allah to have mercy on me, accept me and forgive me. I prayed to Allah to keep her firm in her grave as she always liked to mention in her supplications.

At that moment, I stopped. I asked myself what if it was I who had died. Where would I be moving on to? Fear pressed me and the tears began all over again.

“Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar…” The first adhan rose softly from the masjid. It sounded so beautiful this time. I felt calm and relaxed as I repeated the mu’adhin’s call. I wrapped the shawl around my shoulders and stood to pray Fajr. I prayed as if it was my last prayer, a farewell prayer, just like Noorah had done yesterday. It had been her last Fajr.

Now, and in sha Allah for the rest of my life, if I awake in the morning I do not count on being alive by evening, and in the evening I do not count on being alive by morning. We are all going on Noorah's journey. What have we prepared for it?

:w:
Reply

smile
06-22-2007, 06:50 PM
nice story
very sad
Reply

AllahoAkbar
06-22-2007, 10:14 PM
jazakuallah khayrun for posting that story....it realy oppened my eyes.:cry:
Reply

samsam
06-22-2007, 10:25 PM
aw what a sad story. it really benifited me sister. jazakallah
Reply

Samira_01
06-23-2007, 08:29 PM
Asalamu 3leykum war7ma tullah

:cry: .. made me cry.. realli touching story Mashallah
{To Allah we belong and to him is our return}

Jzk'allah for sharing uqti
Peace:peace:
Reply

Al_Imaan
06-23-2007, 09:03 PM
it bought tears to my eyes...:cry:...Jazak Allah for sharing
Reply

Kittygyal
06-23-2007, 09:23 PM
Salamualikum
Very touching indeed. :cry:
Ma'assalama
Reply

Rafeeq
06-24-2007, 05:54 PM
you made me cry, of course. May Allah keep her soul in peace.
Reply

FatimaAsSideqah
10-05-2008, 06:01 PM
She's My Sister

A true story translated by Muhammad Alshareef


Her cheeks were worn and sunken and her skin hugged her bones. That didn’t stop her though, you could never catch her not reciting Qur’an. Always vigil in her personal prayer room Dad had set up for her. Bowing, prostrating, raising her hands in prayer. That was the way she was from dawn to sunset and back again, boredom was for others.

As for me I craved nothing more than fashion magazines and novels. I treated myself all the time to videos until those trips to the rental place became my trademark. As they say, when something becomes habit people tend to distinguish you by it. I was negligent in my responsibilities and laziness characterized my Salah. One night........

I turned the video off after a marathon three hours of watching. The adhan softly rose in that quiet night. I slipped peacefully into my blanket.

Her voice carried from her prayer room. “Yes? Would you like anything Noorah?”

With a sharp needle she popped my plans. ‘Don’t sleep before you pray Fajr!’

“Agh ... there’s still an hour before Fajr, that was only the first Adhaan!”

With those loving pinches of hers, she called me closer. She was always like that, even before the fierce sickness shook her spirit and shut her in bed. ‘Hanan can you come sit beside me.’

I could never refuse any of her requests, you could touch the purity and sincerity. “Yes, Noorah?”

‘Please sit here.’

“OK, I’m sitting. What’s on your mind?”


With the sweetest mono voice she began reciting: [Every soul shall taste death and you will merely be repaid your earnings on Resurrection Day]

She stopped thoughtfully. Then she asked, ‘Do you believe in death?’

“Of course I do.”


‘Do you believe that you shall be responsible for whatever you do, regardless of how small or large?’

“I do, but … Allah is Forgiving and Merciful and I’ve got a long life waiting for me.”

‘Stop it Hanan ... aren’t you afraid of death and it’s abruptness? Look at Hind. She was younger than you but she died in a car accident. So did so and so, and so and so. Death is age-blind and your age could never be a measure of when you shall die.’

The darkness of the room filled my skin with fear. “I’m scared of the dark and now you made me scared of death, how am I supposed to go to sleep now. Noorah, I thought you promised you’d go with us on vacation during the summer break.”

Impact. Her voice broke and her heart quivered. ‘I might be going on a long trip this year Hanan, but somewhere else. Just maybe. All of our lives are in Allah’s hands and we all belong to Him.’

My eyes welled and the tears slipped down both cheeks.

I pondered my sisters grizzly sickness, how the doctors had informed my father privately that there was not much hope that Noorah was going to outlive the disease. She wasn’t told though. Who hinted to her? Or was it that she could sense the truth.

‘What are you thinking about Hanan?’ Her voice was sharp. ‘Do you think I am just saying this because I am sick? Uh - uh. In fact, I may live longer than people who are not sick. And you Hanan, how long are you going to live? Twenty years, maybe? Forty? Then what?’ Through the dark she reached for my hand and squeezed gently.

‘There’s no difference between us; we’re all going to leave this world to live in Paradise or agonize in Hell. Listen to the words of Allah: [Anyone who is pushed away from the Fire and shown into Jannah will have triumphed.]

I left my sister’s room dazed, her words ringing in my ears: May Allah guide you Hanan - don’t forget your prayer.

Eight O’clock in the morning. Pounding on my door. I don’t usually wake up at this time. Crying. Confusion. O Allah, what happened?

Noorahs condition became critical after Fajr, they took her immediately to the hospital ... Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji‘un.

There wasn’t going to be any trips this summer. It was written that I would spend the summer at home. After an eternity...

It was one O’clock in the afternoon. Mother phoned the hospital. ‘Yes. You can come and see her now.’ Dad’s voice had changed, mother could sense something had gone deathly wrong. We left immediately.

Where was that avenue I used to travel and thought was so short? Why was it so long now, so very long. Where was the cherished crowd and traffic that would give me a chance to gaze left and right. Everyone, just move out of our way. Mother was shaking her head in her hands – crying – as she made dua’ for her Noorah.

We arrived at the hospitals main entrance.

One man was moaning, another was involved in an accident and a third’s eyes were iced, you couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead.

We skipped stairs to Noorahs floor. She was in intensive care.

The nurse approached us. ‘Let me take you to her.’ As we walked down the aisles the nurse went on expressing how sweet a girl Noorah was. She reassured Mother somewhat that Noorah’s condition had gotten better than what it was in the morning.

‘Sorry. No more than one visitor at a time.’ This was the intensive care unit. Through the small window in the door and past the flurry of white robes I caught my sisters eyes. Mother was standing beside her. After two minutes, mother came out unable to control her crying.

‘You may enter and say Salam to her on condition that you do not speak too long,’ they told me. ‘Two minutes should be enough.’

“How are you Noorah? You were fine last night sister, what happened?”

We held hands, she squeezed harmlessly. ‘Even now, Alhamdulillah, I’m doing fine.’

“Alhamdulillah ... but ... your hands are so cold.”

I sat on her bedside and rested my fingers on her knee. She jerked it away. “Sorry ... did I hurt you?”

“No, it is just that I remembered Allah’s words: [One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud)]

... Hanan pray for me. I may be meeting the first day of the hearafter very soon. It is a long journey and I haven’t prepared enough good deeds in my suitcase.’

A tear escaped my eye and ran down my cheek at her words. I cried and she joined me. The room blurred away and left us – two sisters - to cry together. Rivulets of tears splashed down on my sister’s palm which I held with both hands. Dad was now becoming more worried about me. I’ve never cried like that before.

At home and upstairs in my room, I watched the sun pass away with a sorrowful day. Silence mingled in our corridors. A cousin came in my room, another. The visitors were many and all the voices from downstairs stirred together. Only one thing was clear at that point ... Noorah had died!

I stopped distinguishing who came and who went. I couldn’t remember what they said. O Allah, where was I? What was going on? I couldn’t even cry anymore.

Later that week they told me what had happened. Dad had taken my hand to say goodbye to my sister for the last time, I had kissed Noorah’s head.

I remember only one thing though, seeing her spread on that bed, the bed that she was going to die on. I remembered the verse she recited: [One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud)] and I knew too well the truth of the next verse: [The drive on that day we be to your Lord (Allah)!]

I tiptoed into her prayer room that night. Staring at the quiet dressers and silenced mirrors, I treasured who it was that had shared my mother’s stomach with me. Noorah was my twin sister.

I remembered who I had swapped sorrows with. Who had comforted my rainy days. I remembered who had prayed for my guidance and who had spent so many tears for so many long nights telling me about death and accountability. May Allah save us all.

Tonight is Noorah’s first night that she shall spend in her tomb. O Allah, have mercy on her and illumine her grave. This was her Qur’an, her prayer mat and …and this was the spring rose-colored dress that she told me she would hide until she got married, the dress she wanted to keep just for her husband.

I remembered my sister and cried over all the days that I had lost. I prayed to Allah to have mercy on me, accept me and forgive me. I prayed to Allah to keep her firm in her grave as she always liked to mention in her supplications.

At that moment, I stopped. I asked myself: what if it was I who had died? Where would I be moving on to? Fear pressed me and the tears began all over again.

Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar...

The first adhan rose softly from the Masjid, how beautiful it sounded this time. I felt calm and relaxed as I repeated the Muadhdhins call. I wrapped the shawl around my shoulders and stood to pray Fajr. I prayed as if it was my last prayer, a farewell prayer, just like Noorah had done yesterday. It had been her last Fajr.

Now and insha’ Allah for the rest of my life, if I awake in the mornings I do not count on being alive by evening, and in the evening I do not count on being alive by morning.

We are all going on Noorah’s journey – what have we prepared for it?


http://www.islamic-paths.org/
Reply

Khayal
10-05-2008, 08:56 PM
:sl:

JazaakAllaah khayr!

:w:


.
Reply

Musaafirah
10-05-2008, 08:58 PM
Jazakillahukhair...:(
Reply

Afifa
10-05-2008, 09:01 PM
:cry:
wow sis
that was really deep :(
Reply

FatimaAsSideqah
10-05-2008, 09:02 PM
Jazaak'Allah khair to brother and sisters.

Its actually made me to tears a bit. :cry:
Reply

------
10-07-2008, 11:18 AM
:salamext:

:bump:

This story always brings tears to my eyes...
Reply

missy
06-17-2011, 06:33 PM
:sl:


She's My Sister by Muhammad Alshareef

Her cheeks were worn and sunken, and her skin hugged her bones. That didn't stop her because you could never catch her not reciting Qur'an. She was always vigil in her personal prayer room that our father had set up for her. Bowing, prostrating, raising her hands in prayer, was the way she was from dawn to sunset and back again; boredom was for other people.

As for me, I craved nothing more than fashion magazines and novels. I treated myself to videos until the trips to the rental place became my trademark. It’s a saying that when something becomes habit, people tend to distinguish you by it. I was negligent in my responsibilities and my salah was characterized by laziness.

One night, after a long three hours of watching, I turned the video off. The adhan rose softly in the quiet night. I slipped peacefully into my blanket.

Her voice called me from her prayer room. "Yes? Would you like anything Noorah?" I asked.

With a sharp needle she popped my plans. "Don't sleep before you pray Fajr!"

Agghh! “There's still an hour before Fajr. That was only the first adhan,” I said.

With those loving pinches of hers, she called me closer. She was like that even before the fierce sickness shook her spirit and shut her in bed. "Hanan, can you come sit beside me."

I could never refuse any of her requests; you could touch the purity and sincerity in her. "Yes, Noorah?"

"Please sit here."

"Alright, I’m sitting. What's on your mind?"

With the sweetest mono voice she began reciting:
Every soul shall taste death and you will merely be repaid your earnings on the Day of Resurrection.


She stopped thoughtfully. Then she asked, "Do you believe in death?"

"Of course I do,” I replied.

"Do you believe that you shall be responsible for whatever you do, regardless of how small or large?"

"I do, but Allah is Forgiving and Merciful, and I’ve got a long life waiting for me."

"Stop it Hanan! Are you not afraid of death and its abruptness? Take a look at Hind. She was younger than you but she died in a car accident. Death is age-blind and your age could never be a measure of when you shall die."

The darkness of the room filled my skin with fear. "I'm scared of the dark and now you made me scared of death. How am I supposed to go to sleep now? Noorah, I thought you promised you'd go with us on vacation during the summer break."

Her voice broke and her heart quivered. "I might be going on a long trip this year Hanan, but somewhere else. All of our lives are in Allah’s hands and we all belong to Him."

My eyes welled and the tears slipped down both cheeks. I pondered my sisters grizzly sickness. The doctors had informed my father in private that there was not much hope Noorah was going to outlive the disease. She wasn't told, so I wondered who hinted to her. Or was it that she could sense the truth?

"What are you thinking about Hanan?" Her voice was sharp. "Do you think I am just saying this because I am sick? I hope not. In fact, I may live longer than people who are not sick. How long are you going to live Hanan? Perhaps twenty years? Maybe forty? Then what?" Through the dark she reached for my hand and squeezed gently. "There's no difference between us; we're all going to leave this world to live in Paradise or agonize in Hell. Listen to the words of Allah:
Anyone who is pushed away from the Fire and shown into Jannah will have triumphed.


I left my sister's room dazed, her words ringing in my ears: “May Allah guide you Hanan - don't forget your prayer.”

I heard pounding on my door at eight o'clock in the morning. I don't usually wake up at this time. There was crying and confusion. O Allah, what happened?
Noorah’s condition became critical after Fajr; they took her to the hospital immediately.
Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'oon.

There wasn't going to be any trips this summer. It was written that I would spend the summer at home.

It felt like an eternity had gone by when it was one o'clock in the afternoon. Mother phoned the hospital.

"Yes. You can come and see her now." Dad's voice had changed, and mother could sense something had gone deathly wrong. We left immediately.
Where was that avenue I used to travel and thought was so short? Why was it so very long now? Where was the cherished crowd and traffic that would give me a chance to gaze left and right? Everyone, just move out of our way!

Mother was shaking her head in her hands crying as she made du'a for her Noorah. We arrived at the hospital’s main entrance. One man was moaning, while another was involved in an accident. A third man’s eyes were iced. You couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive.
Noorah was in intensive care. We skipped stairs to her floor. The nurse approached us.

"Let me take you to her."

As we walked down the aisles the nurse went on expressing how sweet of a girl Noorah was. She somewhat reassured Mother that Noorah’s condition had gotten better than what it was in the morning. "Sorry. No more than one visitor at a time,” the nurse said.
This was the intensive care unit. Past the flurry white robes, through the small window in the door, I caught my sister’s eyes. Mother was standing beside her. After about two minutes, mother came out unable to control her crying. "You may enter and say salaam to her on the condition that you do not speak too long," they told me. "Two minutes should be enough."

"How are you Noorah? You were fine last night sister, what happened?"

We held hands; she squeezed harmlessly. "Even now, alhamdulillah, I'm doing fine."

"Alhamdulillah...but...your hands are so cold."

I sat on her bedside and rested my fingers on her knee. She jerked it away. "Sorry, did I hurt you?"

"No, it is just that I remembered Allah's words.”
Waltafatul saaqu bil saaq
(One leg will be wrapped to the other leg [in the death shroud]).


"Hanan pray for me. I may be meeting the first day of the Hereafter very soon. It’s a long journey and I haven't prepared enough good deeds in my suitcase."

A tear escaped my eye and ran down my cheek at her words. I cried and she joined me. The room blurred away and left us two sisters to cry together. Rivulets of tears splashed down on my sister’s palm, which I held with both hands. Dad was now becoming more worried about me. I've never cried like that before.

At home and upstairs in my room, I watched the sun pass away with a sorrowful day. Silence mingled in our corridors. One after another, my cousins came in my room. The visitors were many and all the voices from downstairs stirred together. Only one thing was clear at that point – Noorah had died!

I stopped distinguishing who came and who went. I couldn't remember what they said. O Allah, where was I? What was going on? I couldn't even cry anymore.
Later that week they told me what had happened. Dad had taken my hand to say goodbye to my sister for the last time. I had kissed Noorah's head.

I remember only one thing while seeing her spread on that bed – the bed that she was going to die on. I remembered the verse she recited:
One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud).

And I knew too well the truth of the next verse:
The drive on that day will be to your Lord (Allah)!


I tiptoed into her prayer room that night. Staring at the quiet dressers and silenced mirrors, I treasured the person that had shared my mother's stomach with me. Noorah was my twin sister.

I remembered who I had swapped sorrows with, who comforted my rainy days. I remembered who prayed for my guidance and who spent so many tears for many long nights telling me about death and accountability. May Allah save us all.

Tonight is Noorah's first night that she shall spend in her tomb. O Allah, have mercy on her and illumine her grave. This was her Qur'an and her prayer mat. And this was the spring, rose-colored dress that she told me she would hide until she got married; the dress she wanted to keep just for her husband.

I remembered my sister and cried over all the days that I had lost. I prayed to Allah to have mercy on me, accept me and forgive me. I prayed to Allah to keep her firm in her grave as she always liked to mention in her supplications.

At that moment, I stopped. I asked myself what if it was I who had died. Where would I be moving on to? Fear pressed me and the tears began all over again.
“Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar…” The first adhan rose softly from the masjid. It sounded so beautiful this time. I felt calm and relaxed as I repeated the mu’adhin’s call. I wrapped the shawl around my shoulders and stood to pray Fajr. I prayed as if it was my last prayer, a farewell prayer, just like Noorah had done yesterday. It had been her last Fajr.
Now, and in sha Allah for the rest of my life, if I awake in the morning I do not count on being alive by evening, and in the evening I do not count on being alive by morning. We are all going on Noorah's journey. What have we prepared for it?


__________________________________________________ ________________
*Muhammad Alshareef's final speech at the 1999 MYNA East Zone Conference.


:cry::cry::cry:
Reply

Just_A_Girl13
06-18-2011, 02:40 AM
Salaam sister,

This made me cry. Jazak Allah Khair for posting, what a good reminder for all of us :)

Peace be with you
Reply

Haya emaan
06-18-2011, 05:25 PM
SUBHANALLAH..!! that brought tears in my eyes.. may Allah make us all think like that..

jazakAllah for sharing
Reply

yas2010
06-18-2011, 06:13 PM
May Allah bless you for sharing this. It too brought tears to my eyes.
Reply

Riana17
06-19-2011, 09:50 AM
Subhanallah sister! May you be rewarded for sharing this story

Very sad :cry::cry::cry:
But good reminder for all of us. May We all pray like it will be the last, may we all live today like it will be the last. Ameen
Reply

Galaxy
06-19-2011, 10:44 AM
:wa:

A very sad story but also an excellent reminder. Jazaaki Allaahu khayran for sharing.

:sl:
Reply

Who Am I?
06-19-2011, 05:17 PM
A good reminder that life is not guaranteed. Only Allah knows how much time we have left.
Reply

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