I clearly remember the day when my mother passed away. You know I
always thought that bad news always came with bad weather. Turns out it doesn't work that way.
It was a Friday afternoon. The sun shone so brightly and the sky was crystal clear; it’s just like any other fine day. I came home from school. My clothes were soaked of sweat. I saw my two-year-old little sister was playing with my grandma, but I didn’t see my mother. I kissed my grandma’s hand; the first thing I always did when I got home. And I looked for my mother to kiss hers, too. She might be at the kitchen, so I went straight to the kitchen but she wasn’t there.
It was a Friday afternoon. The sun shone so brightly and the sky was crystal clear; it’s just like any other fine day. I came home from school. My clothes were soaked of sweat. I saw my two-year-old little sister was playing with my grandma, but I didn’t see my mother. I kissed my grandma’s hand; the first thing I always did when I got home. And I looked for my mother to kiss hers, too. She might be at the kitchen, so I went straight to the kitchen but she wasn’t there.
I approached my grandma and touched her shoulder. “Where’s Mom?” I asked slowly so that she
could read my lips.
“She’s in a hospital, now. She’s in labor!”
I smiled as I knew that a new member would come to our
family soon. I was so psyched about it I ran to the bathroom and took wudhu. I
prayed to God; one thing that I rarely did, for my mother’s sake and also for
the infant inside her. I knelt and asked to God,” Please, God. I rarely see you
and I know I don’t deserve any of your attention, and yet here I am begging you
to listen to me for just this moment. Please, keep my mother safe, and the baby,
too. Please.” They said God would know if you really meant every word you said
to Him if you cried. And so I did.
