by Aleena Haimor and Layal Hilal
At the Mohammad al-Amin masjid, I hear the Imam leading the prayer, but my heart is elsewhere. In the spaces next to me, Huda, Iman and Mama are trying not to cry. Before Sara’s funeral, we are doing Salatul Janazah.
My tears haven’t dried since Sara died, and they overflow through the course of Surah-Al-Fatiha.
I saw her body on the way to their women’s room. Wrapped in the Mihrab Cloth, she was covered completely. Seeing that hit me with a reality check: my sister was actually gone.
I start to cry again. Sara was my older sister, the one l loved the most. She always comforted and helped me as we are—no, were—the closest of sisters. I can’t imagine my life without her by my side.
Except… Now I have to do more than just imagine. I actually have to live without her. I sniffle, trying to keep my emotions in check. Afterwards, I slip outside, hopefully unnoticed. I sit down on a deserted bench and sob.
“You okay?” I look up and see Asiya, my lifelong best friend, standing a little behind me. I try to speak but my throat is dry. I settle for shaking my head. Next to Sara, Asiya has been one of my biggest role models, even though she’s only a year older than me. Asiya is looking at me, fighting tears.
With her sunny personality and big heart, Asiya is inspirational and comforting. Plus, she wears the most gorgeous hijabs. Today, she is wearing the very opposite of everyone else, a lavender hijab that has little stars on it, and a black abaya. Asiya nudges me slightly and sits down next to me.
I try to speak, but my throat is dry. I settle for nodding. Asiya and her family came to pay their respects to Sara. Asiya told me that Sara is—was—an older sister to her as well.
Tears cloud my vision, and I finally muster the strength to talk.
“I-I just can’t b-believe that Sara is g-gone. F-Forever, Asiya.”
“Z, I miss her too.” My friend puts her arms around me and squeezes me tight. She is much taller than me, even though the age difference is small. I give in to the hug and relax a bit.
I hear the Imam’s voice on the speakers.
“Now, let us make dua’a for Sara Salim, a wonderful woman who, by Allah’s will, has left us for Jannah.”
Asiya and I raise our hands to the sky in prayer. I close my eyes and wish for well-being and Jannah upon Sara. All of a sudden, I feel something. It is a rush of memories that were buried deep in my heart. Memories that I had forgotten to the test of time.
The way Sara used to chop up olives from our garden in the kitchen, and—for some reason—save the olive juice for me.
The way she would tease me saying, “Zainaaaaaabb? Did you pray Fajr?”
I would say, “Walahi!”
Then she would swish her hair and say, “Oh my goodness, Zuzu, you’re lying! Go to Jahannam!” Then we’d burst into giggles together.
Together.
My eyes fill with tears again, but I feel something else. It is a mix of feelings.
Shock.
Anger
Frustration.
Sadness
And…forgiveness.
Of all the times Sara and I fought, all the times she yelled at me. I forgive her. I almost laugh, because honestly? I’m REALLY late. Still, if she was still alive, she would accept my apology in a heartbeat. I finish my dua’a and hug my friend again. I smile faintly.
“I know that Sara is in Jannah. Allah wanted her back. He knew twenty five years was long enough to wait for Sara to go to paradise, so he called her back to him once again.”
Asiya sighs. “It must be nice to have that kind of patience.”
My breathing turns sharp as I painstakingly remember how patient Sara always was with me. It was her who taught me all I know. And everyone says that I take after her patience.
I look at Asiya, taking it all in. She’s always been the sweetest person, and always stood up for me when those boys from the neighboring church used to annoy us. Her strength today is incredible. I hug her again. I need to hold on to that one piece of my old life
But inside, I feel lost.
Everything is gone.
My old life is gone.
I try to smile, hoping Khadijah will be fooled. Of course, it doesn’t work.
“Listen,” she says. “I know everything about you, and it’s obvious that something else is bothering you…”
Before she can finish, I explode.
“Of course something is bothering me! My sister is dead! My house is in pieces! I lost my whole life!” I fume angrily. Asiya stutters, shocked and trying to explain.
“T-That’s not what I meant…”
Once again, I interrupt.
“You don’t get it, do you? Sara is dead! Of all people you don’t get it! You know what? If you’re just going to insult me, then I don’t care! Just…go!”
With a sob, I run away. I know I shouldn’t have said all of those things, but I couldn’t help it. Even though I hate to make excuses, I’ve been patient my whole life.
Now, my patience has run out.
With another cry, I turn away and head to the funeral, searching for my family in the long lines. Finally, I find Iman and Huda standing with Mama and Bayi and I run to them, hugging them with all my heart.
I stand with Huda on my right side and Iman on my left, with my parents next to them. I look blankly into the distance, grasping my sisters’ hands. They do too.
Until…
They put Sara’s wrapped body in the ground and cover it with fresh soil. I lose control over my body.
My emotions.
My pain.
“SARA!” I scream with passion and fear in my voice.
My parents, crying softly, try to hold me back, but I struggle. The Imam prays over Sara’s grave and I lose it.
Bursting into tears, I break free of my parents’ arms and run. I dash out of the masjid, sobbing, and I run to our broken house.
On the way, I pass the Beirut souk, Sara’s favorite market. I snort through my tears. Like, Wow, Sara. The souk? That girl really has—had—good taste.
I smile softly and slip inside.
- Surah-Al-Fatiha: First chapter (surah) in the Muslim holy book, the Quran
- Salatul Janazah: Prayer of death, performed right before a funeral
- Mihrab cloth: a white cloth that all muslims are buried in after death
- Masjid: Mosque; Muslim holy place of worship
- Imam: Religious leader, kind of like a priest
- Dua’a: A small prayer, not one of the five daily prayers; a plea or request for God to grant
- Jannah: Heaven
- Fajr: the first of the five daily Islamic prayers
- Walahi: I swear to God
- Jahannam: Hell, if you say Walahi and you’re lying, you supposedly go to Jahanam
The Lighthouse 