Filed under: Bayan, The Journey | Tags: Bayan Hassaballa, blogging, grief, Insomaniacal, insominia, loss, quran, spirituality
I’m not really sure where this post is going, but here goes everything. I got up from bed, not being able to sleep. I’ve learned, the hard way, not to try to read myself to sleep because if it’s a good book, I’ll be up all night reading as the night melts away into morning. My brother is a sleep specialist and he’s told me about the reading and I didn’t listen. That’s how I read my guilty pleasure in about 24 hours. I think he’s the one who advised me to just get up and do something until I’m tired and can fall asleep. After lying in bed for four hours, praying to God to just fall asleep, I’ve become afraid.
I’m afraid of tossing and turning in bed. I’m afraid of watching the minutes moving on, not regarding me one bit, as I stare in disbelief as another hour passes by carelessly not taking my feelings into account. I sit in bed, rerunning through my day, trying to remember when I had my last cup of coffee. Today, I think I had my last sip close to five (big mistake). And that might be (probably is) why I’m still up. But it could be so many other things. And now, because of this fear, I usually find myself sitting on a chair in front of either a computer or television screen waiting until I can’t keep my eyes open, so I can easily slip into sleep. But I digress.
My husband called me at work this morning and told me my great aunt had passed away. It was very sad, because she had suffered from cancer and probably died from its complications. I totally missed the pleas from her daughter to our family to pray for her. It was only after the fact when I started wall-snooping. I stumbled through the Arabic of her writing on my other cousin’s wall. On Tuesday at 10 am she wrote, “Sherif, Don’t forget Mama in your dua (supplication), she’s not feeling well. And honestly, God Forbid (Yustur), she went into the intensive care unit for 24 hours now. They discharged her, but she’s still not doing well at all. Please remember her in your prayers.” And she wrote on my other cousin’s wall, “Please tell your mom and (my grandmother, who is her sister in law) to pray for Mama. She’s really sick, and God Protect her, please don’t forget.” And then it was silent for a couple of days, and another cousin posted on his profile RIP Tant Zeinab Khalifa at 4:57 a.m. on Thursday.
I can’t imagine what the last few days have been like, nor can I imagine what the next year is going to be like. I’ve experienced loss before, but this is different. In reflecting upon today’s events, I imagined having lost both my parents (God bless and keep them safe from harm), because my great aunt is only survived by her children. My uncle passed away years ago. I imagined how alone I would feel without them. Naturally, I think about how I take my parents for granted and how I am going to regret it when they’re gone. Sad fact is things most likely won’t really change, and my inaction will turn into regret. I can see myself now sitting on a therapists couch saying through tears, “I wish I had done more,” and the therapist telling me, “Don’t beat yourself up, you were a good daughter.”
But this post isn’t about making sure we take advantage of the time we have with our loved ones. The lump in my throat is getting big now, and I’m trying to swallow it away. I still don’t really know where this is going. But I’ll continue.
I’m thinking now of the all the loss I’ve experienced in my life (mainly losing Bayan) and the loss and grief I will experience in the future and my heart is filled with sadness.
But I find comfort in the temporal nature of this life (I hope I’m using that word right). But ya’ni that life is short, and temporary or brief. In looking to next life, I’m hoping for good in that life. And I think of all the reunions that will occur in Jannah. (I’m trying not to think of the Day of Judgment, I’m hoping for an exemption from that day). I promised myself, at some point, that Bayan would be the first person I’d look for (darn, now I’m crying). Actually, I’m hoping she’ll be the one looking for me. One of the best dreams I’ve had of her, is when I asked her if she would intercede on my behalf and take me with her to Jannah. She nodded.
That’s what I’m looking forward to, and I hope I get there in spite of who I really am. I’m really hoping for al-Raheem, the same mercy that a mother has for her child1.
Alright, I’m done. Go now, do something useful.
Hello Everyone,
I hope this finds you well. I’ve been working an a few posts, and I’ve also been reflecting upon a lot of things including in which direction I want this blog to go. In the meantime, someone shared this beautiful poem. And I found so much comfort in it. I also found a website which talks about the origin. I hope that those who have lost loved ones, recently or not so recently, find comfort in it.
I know the next time the next time the breeze passes over me, I will think of this poem.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
Taken from: http://www.businessballs.com/donotstandatmygraveandweep.htm
Filed under: Bayan | Tags: Bayan Hassaballa, Country, grief, loss, Love Story, Taylor Swift, You belong with Me
My brother Hesham wrote this post about why Chris Brown made him cry and it made me think about what life has been like after Bayan. I wish this post was going to be as heartwarming, but I really don’t think so. (My 10 year-old self wants to say: I’M NOT COPYING)
What prompted me to write this post was the song Love Story by Taylor Swift. I never liked her or her music. She, to me, was like Britney and I totally tuned her out even though I knew that Bayan loved her and listened to TS on her iPod. When she was in the hospital, I didn’t know what to get her, but I wanted to get her something useful. Then a light bulb went off in my head and I ended up getting her an iTunes gift card. This was something that she could instantly use and get what she wanted. I never asked her if she used it, but now I really wish I did.
I was in the gym once, and the song You Belong With Me came on. Normally I wouldn’t care, but I plugged my earbuds in and tuned into the song. I couldn’t help it, but tears started streaming down my face. One, because it reminded me of Bayan but two because it was a memory I didn’t have with her.
(Enter guilt)
Then I start to feel guilty for all the times that I didn’t answer her call when she was in the den, and all the times that I didn’t go to the hospital and the list can go on. I wished with all my heart that I listened to Taylor Swift with her and then I would have one more memory that I could cherish. Now I heart Taylor Swift and anytime her songs come on the radio, I listen attentively.
The kids love her too. I recently bought this karaoke microphone (thanks AE) that had 10 songs on it. It was for $10 and that’s about how much entertainment we got out of it. But it had Love Story (and Chris Brown’s Forever), so each of the kids got a chance to belt out Taylor’s song. Sereen, Bayan’s youngest sister, loves (all caps) that song and she sang it a few times the night we plugged it in. Now I try to embrace all the things that the kids like just so I can share those memories with them.
Side Note: It’s funny that now I can’t suppress my tears any more. I’ve mastered suppressing sobs, but I just can’t suppress those tears anymore and it makes me reflect on the hadith of our beloved, peace be upon him, when his son, Ibrahim, passed away. I’m paraphrasing here, but he said that tears flow and the heart is saddened, but he admonished for allowing the tongue to say that which is not pleasing to God. As much as I try to hide it, my tears speak on behalf of my heart.
Now back to that guilt thing. The five stages of grief are (DABDA, thanks NH) denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I think I may have reached the acceptance phase, but often I fluctuate between that and the depression phase. The stages shouldn’t occur in any order, and movement among them is fluid. DABDA is just the easiest way to remember them. Notice guilt isn’t one of them, not because people don’t feel it, but it’s not really a phase, but it’s a big part of the bargaining stage. That’s when the griever says if I could only…or if I had just one more…and that’s partly because of the guilt attached and associated with loss and grief.
One of the first ways to deal with an issue is to acknowledge it. And this is the first time I am acknowledging it to myself (and the internet) that I feel guilty that I didn’t do more for her. I feel guilty for not spending more time with her in the hospital and even before she was sick. I wish I would have texted her more and called her more often. I feel guilty for not being the aunt that my aunts and uncles were to me when I was a little girl. I feel guilty for not making an extra effort to see her whenever I could. I feel guilty for going to Egypt two days before her death and not being there for her when she needed us most. I’ve accepted the fact that Bayan is no longer with us, but I haven’t accepted the fact that I could have been a better aunt to her. I’m not saying all of this because I’m fishing for sympathy or need people to tell me I did the best that I could. I’m not looking for any of this; it’s just something that has to be said. And I said it.
This can be a great source of stress and something that’s hard to recognize in oneself. This is what I realized when I heard Love Story today. This is what my tears told me on behalf of my heart today, and this is why Taylor Swift makes me cry.
This is my Bayan post. I hadn’t anticipated writing it this early in my blogging career. I wanted to get my feet wet first, but I guess that didn’t happen. I am writing this post and I’m only one and half posts old. The second post is a work in progress. I guess I have to be in the mood to write. Again I digress.
God called back my niece Bayan a little over two months ago. There are times when it feels like it happened years ago and there are times when it still feels like it happened yesterday. What usually happens is like an empty bucket under a leaky sink, I fill up drop after drop of grief until I spill over with emotion. I don’t know what the last drop was, but it might have been the fact that one of the tweeters I was following had Banyan in their name. And every time I saw the name, I would think it was Bayan (a drop of grief). It was like the time I was at a wedding and saw someone I knew, but I had forgotten her name. This was about a month ago. And it was like the movies, when she said her name was time, everything went into slow motion. Had I been holding a glass, I would have dropped it. I’m not trying to be funny, but I remember mumbling something along the lines of “oh…my niece is Bayan”, as if it were a surprised like she’s the only other Bayan I have ever met in my life. I had also contemplated afterwards if I should have said was instead of is. I sat down after that and I cried, it looked like I was reacting to the speeches at the wedding, but that was fortunate coincidence. I had to blink away tears (as I am doing now) to make sure I stayed “focused” on the speech. My heart at that point was filled with grief, as it now and it is overflowing.
The lump was in my throat and I found myself unable to relieve the pressure in chest, so I woke up and I decided to write this. Like an aspirin for a headache, I am hoping this will relieve my pain.
There is nothing like the love that a person has for the child of a sibling. I have no nephews yet, so I’ve been around girls, five to be exact. Bayan was the oldest, and there is nothing like the first niece. The love I felt for that child is like no other and I think it’s God’s way of introducing us to the unconditional love that one has for their own child. She was our world for the first five years of her life. She had all our attention. Being the first grandchild on the Hassaballa side, she was our little princess and she knew it. On her mom’s side she was one of many grandchildren, and while she had a special place in everyone’s house, coming to Giddo and Ham’s house was an experience like no other. She was doted on by a bunch of adults all vying for her attention. And she was a beautiful girl. As a baby and toddler, she was so full of happiness and glee, and it was contagious. And we loved having her around. I used to take her with me to school then. She was the favorite of all my friends at UIC. People still reminisce about those days. It was always such a treat to be able to get out with her aunts, but the treat was more ours. And as she got older, I would think about how grand it would be to grow up with this little princess. I would think about the relationships I had with my aunts, and think I can’t wait to have that with Bayan. Little did anyone know that our time together, although precious, would be very short.
She was diagnosed with a rare neurological disorder when she was about six years old. I’ll spare the details about the disorder, but you can look up Ataxia Telengiectasia later. She was always a little bit clumsy. She would bump into things and bang her head against stuff, but we thought it was because she was a little bit ditsy (Banboona, I say that lovingly). I remember when, in my parent’s kitchen, Hesham (my brother and Bayan’s father) asked her to try to walk a straight line and she couldn’t. She had to hold someone’s hand. I remember thinking well maybe she has issues with her ears and that’s why her balance is off. But it wasn’t until about February or March of 2003, when Bayan was diagnosed. I will never forget that day. When something horrible is about to happen, I always think to myself, no, no, everything is going to be okay. I try to truly believe that the outcome will be good, but it’s when I hope the most, things don’t usually go my way. And who knows what God’s plan is, at the time that Bayan was diagnosed, Hesham and Reem had come back from Hajj (the holy pilgrimage to Mecca). I’m sure they prayed for their sins to be forgiven and admittance into paradise and this may have been God’s reply. Children who pass away wait with Prophet Abraham, and when it is time for them to enter paradise they refuse to go in without their parents. But who knows what God’s plan is.
I remember sitting in front of the computer reading about the disorder and sobbing in front of the screen, as if she already had died. I remember I couldn’t even talk on the phone. I remember calling Hesham and asking him if it was positive, even though I knew. I was hoping maybe something would have changed in the minutes since we got confirmation, but it didn’t. Little did we know at that time, that Bayan’s life was half behind her and we would only get six more years with her. I asked Hesham on the phone if he needed anything from us. He told me to pray for her as his voice trailed off into a sob. And that’s exactly what I did, I prayed for her every chance I got, but I really should have been praying for us, for me. Because she left this world to a better place and we were left behind with not broken, but shattered hearts.
The next six years were painful seeing her decline. Sooner than later she wasn’t able to walk on her own, and she became immobile and in a wheelchair. No matter what challenges she faced, she always seemed to rise above it. She was surrounded by wonderful people, first and foremost her parents, who were always there for her and tried to make her life as comfortable as possible, like a princess.
A princess she was. Her favorite color was pink, and her second favorite color was pink. She loved pink anything and everything. She was such a girly girl, and loved dressing up. She used to always ask us to put nail polish or make up on. I remember how patient she was when it came to the eye shadow. She used to sit still as a star. And a star she was. She used to get mobbed by us when she walked in the door. Even when Hesham would carry her in the later years, we were there to greet her and see her go. We were also like paparazzi; I have thousands of pictures of her. I tried to chronicle every moment with her. When I got the camera, she became my subject. She was our superstar and I was proud to be her aunt.
I’ll never forget when we danced at my wedding. She had been sitting in her chair all night. Towards the end, she motioned for me to get her out of the chair. She was a woman of few words, even though she was rather articulate from a young age. I pulled her out and we danced. This is how I remember it at least, and I always will. Even when she could walk, she danced like Elaine Bennice. My sister Dalia and I used to laugh and say “there goes Elaine”. She was such a joy and I miss her every day.
I started this post on August 13, and now it’s September 16. Another sleepless night and I’m not sure if I should blame it on the workout or can of soda that I had at dinner. In any case, I’m up and I’m writing. I can’t get myself to read what I wrote above and I wrote a lot. That night on August 13th was a tough one. I had to take breaks to sob and then continue writing. But I needed to purge that emotion because it was pent up inside of me. It’s time to move on.
The first part of this post was talking about the past, I guess. I can’t remember because I can’t get myself to read it. Now it’s time to look to the future, and how to live without her. I swear there are sometimes when I still can’t believe it. We knew it eventually would happen, kids with AT usually don’t survive their teens. But it just seemed to happen so fast, she was getting better and her hair was growing back. Her eyelashes had come back. And I think that’s why it was like a punch to the gut, she had gotten past the worst of it. But that was God’s plan, and we have to accept it, which sometimes can be hard. But it gives me comfort to know she’s in good Hands, and she’s not suffering anymore.
Angie, a near and dear friend who also recently lost her son to cancer told me that she is embracing her grief wholeheartedly. Why? We all said that we wish we could take her place, so Bayan wouldn’t suffer anymore. Sometimes when we pray for things we don’t always get it exactly the way we asked. We have in a way taken over the suffering through grief. They (Bayan and Adam) are not suffering anymore, and we are suffering in our grief. I mean you could say that we should be careful what we pray for.
Now to moving on, there are two other children in that family. Minna and Sireen endured a lot over the last few years; for Sireen it was her entire life. But those kids are resilient and they just need a lot of love and attention from their parents and their aunts and uncles, and they’re getting it. I feel like my relationship has changed with the girls, because it’s no longer in relation to Bayan. I really put in a lot of effort in being with Bayan, and maybe unknowingly neglected the others.
I can’t say that the rest of this year is going to be easy, or the rest of my life. But I find comfort in knowing that I will, God willing, be united with her in Jannah. And seriously, I can’t wait.
Left to Right: Bayan, Minna and Sireen
I haven’t finished my Bayan post yet; I’m still working on it. I don’t know if it’s Ramadan, but she’s been on my mind lately. And I think others have felt the same way. It’s like I can feel her near. I haven’t been by her grave lately, and I think to pay her a visit. I have been praying to dream of Bayan, and it was answered this morning. I don’t think it carries any meaning, more just a reflection of my thoughts.
I can’t remember exactly where we were, but it may have been at Mama and Baba’s house, and I think there was a football game being watched by people. And Bayan was sitting (maybe) with Yosra and she was working on some homework. They were sitting in the living room in my parent’s house. She looked really frustrated so I asked her what was wrong. She told me she was having trouble with her factorials or something and needed help. I can’t remember the word, but it was math for sure. She wanted me to just tell her what the answer was, but I told her to go get her book and we’ll look it up. Part of me wanted to teach her how to problem-solve and part of me didn’t know what the answer was. So I had to look it up. And I remember helping her get up on to the couch, the blue one in the living room (if you’ve ever been to my parent’s house). I asked her how she was feeling. And I was thinking to myself, I hope she’s not getting sick again. And she looked like she did right before she got sick. She said, “Good”. I said her I hope you’re not just saying that, you always said good even though you weren’t. Then I asked her how she was doing, and she said a little down. So I looked at her and I said down or depressed? She looked at me and I saw pain in her eyes and they glistened ever so slightly. I said you know what, we need to talk, but first things first, let’s get done with the math problem.
At some point she turned into a younger version of herself. She had long, curly hair. There were clips at the top of her hair. This I remember so vividly. I can’t remember when, but at some point I hugged her and it was a long hug, and it felt like the hug I never got to give her before she passed. It’s the kind of hug you give someone when you haven’t seen them in a long time. I could see her face when she hugged me. Her eyes were closed tight, and I could tell or I felt that she longed for it, as did I, as if I was trying to hug all the pain away. In my dream, to me, it was her pain, but in reality, it’s mine.
Right before I woke up she told me I’ll never forget when Dalia and Sara touched me. And I woke up to the sound of Mohamed’s loud breathing. I was so mad at him. But I just sat in bed and savored the memory of the dream as I felt it fading from my memory. I miss her.
