وَلَنَبْلُوَنَّكُم بِشَىْءٍۢ مِّنَ ٱلْخَوْفِ وَٱلْجُوعِ وَنَقْصٍۢ مِّنَ ٱلْأَمْوَٰلِ وَٱلْأَنفُسِ وَٱلثَّمَرَٰتِ ۗ وَبَشِّرِ ٱلصَّـٰبِرِينَ
ٱلَّذِينَ إِذَآ أَصَـٰبَتْهُم مُّصِيبَةٌۭ قَالُوٓا۟ إِنَّا لِلَّهِ وَإِنَّآ إِلَيْهِ رَٰجِعُونَ
أُو۟لَـٰٓئِكَ عَلَيْهِمْ صَلَوَٰتٌۭ مِّن رَّبِّهِمْ وَرَحْمَةٌۭ ۖ وَأُو۟لَـٰٓئِكَ هُمُ ٱلْمُهْتَدُونَ
We will certainly test you with a touch of fear and famine and loss of property, life, and crops. Give good news to those who patiently endure—who say, when struck by a disaster, “Surely to Allah we belong and to Him we will ˹all˺ return.” They are the ones who will receive Allah’s blessings and mercy. And it is they who are ˹rightly˺ guided.
My father, Abdullah Rubeya Faris, passed away last Thursday on the 5th of Sha’baan 1445H (15th February 2024).
To Allah belongs what He takes, and to Him belongs what He gives, and everything has its time.
This has been a long and difficult journey for him and for our family that started with a prostate cancer diagnosis in 2005, then increased in intensity in the last 12 months with his loss of mobility and a rollercoaster of medical emergencies until he reached his final breath last Thursday, and was buried after Jumuah prayers the next day.
When someone dies, we often reflect on their legacy and the life lessons they parted with us. And alhamdulillah, I learned so much from my dad – especially his mannerisms and kind conduct with people. However, in this article, I wanted to reflect on his death. I learned so much in this last year from him and the dying process that I want to capture these lessons firstly for myself and my family and secondly impart beneficial knowledge to any child or caregiver as they care for a dying parent, spouse, relative, or friend.
1. This is Jannah
About a year ago, my dad fell on the steps of a masjid as he was going for Isha prayer in his hometown of Dar-es-salaam, Tanzania. That fall led to a host of medical complications, a move to Dubai for treatment, and making him wheelchair-bound and in need of constant care.
During the initial days after his fall, a dear family friend turned to me and said, “This is Jannah.. what you’re doing is Jannah.. don’t let go of it… stay close to your dad”.
It was this reminder that flipped the situation for me from one of pain/loss to one of opportunity to get closer to Allah SWT.
This reminder kept ringing in my ears as the difficulties increased over the next several months.
2. Preparing myself spiritually
When my father first fell, I had a feeling that the end was near. I called my dear friend and scholar, Sh. Khalil Abdur-Rashid, the Muslim chaplain at Harvard University for advice and spiritual counseling, here’s what he said:
- This is a blessing from Allah that you can make it and be with your father in his final days. So, first and foremost, you should thank Allah for this blessing.
- This is not easy, but this is part of Allah’s mercy. You can shed tears, but don’t despair.
- Think about what you want to say to him and take advantage of these moments to say what you want to say
- Ask him for advice on how to live life, and listen and take the advice for the rest of your life, and pass it on to your children.
- Get his wishes and advice on how property should be handled, how his body is to be treated, and where to be buried. How should we carry on as a family after him? What Sadaqat to give. Record these wishes!
- In the final moments, hold his hand and say La ilaha illa Allah. This is a time when angels are descending – you’re in the company of angels. Don’t fear, and don’t be Sad. You’ll see your dad in different spiritual states. You’ll say your words of inspiration, and he’ll say his word. This is an incredible and humbling experience
- This is a time that’s also a reminder for you that your time is next. And start getting your affairs in order.
- Your father will finally get what he wants in Jannah – it’s only a matter of time, as Allah promises the believers.
- We are in a sacred time – the months of Rajab, Sha’baan, Ramadan, and then the Hajj months. A blessed time to pass away.
- Ask what Sadaqat he wants to give. Any debts he has? Any previous zakat? Salat? Fasting? Have these discussions sooner rather than later.
I can’t say I lived up to all the advice above, but I often re-read and reflected on his advice.
3. Days are long, but the year is short
“Reflection: the hardest thing about trials is not the initial shock or drama, the hardest thing about trials is the readjustment to a new reality and endurance to keep up with new reality” – A WhatsApp message I sent to my close circle of friends
You often hear that the days are long, but the years are short when raising children. I feel the exact phrase can be applied to a terminally ill parent who requires constant care and is given a bleak prognosis.
The daily constant requirement of feeding, clothing, cleaning, carrying, and taking care of dad (most of it done by my mother, may Allah bless her), along with mood swings and physical/mental pain, makes you feel tired/exhausted all the time.
Days bleed into weeks and months, and there’s a part of you that thinks, “Will this ever end/or get better?” and there’s a part of you that regrets thinking of that question and realizing that the end might be sooner than you think.
You learn to embrace the present, stop thinking/worrying about the future, and just be thankful for one more day and breath.
4. Activating Surf-Mode 🏄🏽♂️
Surf-Mode Definition: when life throws crazy challenges at you that all you can do is ride the waves.
Facing my dad’s mortality felt like facing waves upon waves of challenges and trials. Sometimes, the trial is medical, financial, or mental. You can’t stop the waves coming; all you can do is ride them.
Hence, I came up with the term “Surf Mode” to remind myself that instead of trying to ‘fight’ the waves, I should learn to ride each wave as it comes, no matter how big it gets. This emoji 🏄🏽♂️ became my shorthand to my friends, telling them I was riding a new wave whenever they didn’t hear from me for a while.
5. Difficulties and Eases
“Verily, with difficulty comes ease.” (Quran: 94:5)
It’s easy to think that I lived a year of doom and gloom watching my father slowly fade.
However, the truth is that we witnessed Allah’s Lutf, gentleness, and ease throughout this trial.
From finding the right care team to Allah sending us the right people to remind us to be patient when we are about to fall in despair, to mini-miracles happening along that way that could not be “coincidences.”
Appreciating the “khair” in this situation has been my north star – and perhaps I won’t understand the full extent of Allah’s favor upon us during these trying times until late in my life.
6. The Jihad of serving a dying parent
A man came to the Messenger of Allah (ﷺ), asking his permission to go out for Jihad. The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) asked him, “Are your parents alive?” He replied, ‘Yes.’ The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) then said to him, “Then your Jihad would be with them (i.e., in looking after them and being at their service.).” (Bukhari)
I have to admit – It wasn’t easy to care for Dad – and there were moments of frustrations and even, dare I say, resentment.
Now I understand why the Prophet called serving parents in old age as a Jihaad and why the Quran said, “Don’t say Uff.”
This is a message I sent to my PCM friends during this period:
“#RealTalk: Now that the “drama” of the hospital is behind us and we are entering the long-term care phase — I feel I’m being tested on this part of the verse… “say no word that shows impatience with them, and do not be harsh with them, but speak to them respectfully”…dad’s getting really frustrated with his condition and is overwhelmed with worry/anxiety and hence very sensitive/snappy… And Shaytaan is playing with my head and wants me to lose patience and utter the word “uff”…May Allah make it easy and keep our hearts pure.”
The year was a true Jihad against my nafs not to feel tired or resentful of the situation, a fight against my tongue not to express annoyance with dad’s constant demands.
I reached low points that only Allah knows, but I came out of them by His mercy.
May Allah forgive my shortcomings and accept the little I did for him – Ameen
7. Wanting to escape vs. being present
When someone is dying – depending on their circumstances – there’s a lot of waiting:
- Waiting for the doctor
- Waiting for a procedure to complete
- Waiting for the patient to eat, sleep, use the bathroom, etc
- Waiting for death
Our usual reaction when we’re waiting for something is to pull out our phones and scroll through social media or text our friends/check our emails.
But the day I found myself getting addicted to scrolling through pointless YouTube videos while dad was in pain, I knew that something was off, and I was trying to escape mentally from the situation.
I realized that my nafs was not ready to be present to face dad’s mortality and the emotions that come with it; it wanted to distract itself with random Mr.Beast videos or “best goals of all time” highlights.
Over several weeks, I had to place strategies to fight this escapism, from deleting YouTube from my phone to forcing myself to read the Quran or do dhikr whenever I felt like escaping.
I wasn’t always successful, and sometimes I failed – but that was part of the Jihad.
8. The Endurance Game
Learning from my cycling/running hobbies, I realized that to stick to caring for dad for several months required endurance and not just sprints.
And the secret to endurance is learning how to fuel yourself and recover while putting in the effort.
Finding time to rest, sleep, eat, and even exercise was necessary to build long-term endurance for caregiving.
Having said that, I couldn’t deny the guilt factor I felt whenever I went for a run or took a nap, knowing that dad was in pain or that my mom/brother was with dad instead of doing what they love.
I had to deal with that guilt by reminding myself that part of caring for someone is ensuring that you take care of yourself and the care team so that we can all be there for the long haul.
9. Having Difficult Conversations
One of the most challenging conversations to have with a dying person is what they’d like to happen after they die.
From practical things like getting access to their bank accounts and knowing what assets/debts they have to their medical preference in critical situations.
One of my friends recommended I take a pen/paper and have this conversation once. As painful as it would be, it’ll be done once, and you’ll be done with it.
For dad, we talked about his assets/debts, but we never reached the point of his Wassiyyah (will). This reminded me that we all need to have a clearly defined Wassiyyah (will) before we die – to make it easier for our inheritors to know precisely what to do instead of interpreting what needs to be done.
The advantage of having this conversation once is that once that’s done – you can spend the rest of the time talking about everything else but the difficult stuff. You can share memories, ask their advice on your plans, or be present in silent moments of contemplation.
10. Planning your life around a terminally ill person
When someone is dying, your time horizon fluctuates between a few hours to several months.
Sometimes, things looked good for dad, and we were optimistic that he’d be around for several months, and sometimes, things looked critical that we weren’t sure he’d live for another day.
Trying to plan life around this fluctuating time horizon was so tricky.
Ultimately, I learned to embrace the gardener mindset and pray istikhara on every small/big decision since I had no idea what the future held and let things unfold on their own instead of trying to ‘control the situation.’
11. Allah provides as per your intention
Last Ramadan, I made a dua, “O Allah, facilitate the outer and inner means for me to serve my parents with Ihsaan.”
At that time, I was living in Dallas (Texas), my kids were in school, and my family and I were pretty set in the US. I wondered if I could ever leave all that to be with dad in Dubai for his treatment. But subhanAllah, Allah fulfilled means for me to be with him beyond my expectations.
Initially, we planned to spend three months of summer with him, and then, depending on the situation, my family would return to Dallas while I stayed on.
However, a “random” call to a friend made me realize that I was eligible to apply for a 10-year residence visa, which meant I could rent an apartment, send my kids to school, and open a bank account locally.
Then there was a one-year contract that stalled for over a year, and that “suddenly” worked out, which enabled me to afford to live in Dubai for the year.
All of this was unplanned and purely a gift from Allah.
Those were the outer means Allah facilitated, but the inner means were things like the ease and calm with which my family and I accepted the move and the contentment that this was the right decision to make, Alhamdulillah.
12. Keeping Intentions Pure for Allah’s sake
رَّبُّكُمْ أَعْلَمُ بِمَا فِى نُفُوسِكُمْ ۚ إِن تَكُونُوا۟ صَـٰلِحِينَ فَإِنَّهُۥ كَانَ لِلْأَوَّٰبِينَ غَفُورًۭا
Your Lord knows best what is within yourselves. If you are righteous, He is certainly All-Forgiving to those who constantly turn to Him. (Quran 17:25)
It’s one thing to set pure intentions, and another is to keep them pure.
When people were commending me for staying with my father, I recognized that this was a test, and my niyyah fluctuated with the situation.
I kept asking myself: Was I truly doing this for Allah? Or just so people say, “Masha’Allah, Mohammed is sacrificing his time/life for his dad.”
Whenever I felt frustrated, I realized that my intentions weren’t pure. I had to push myself to purify the intention and accept this Jihad, no matter the consequences.
13. Enduring Pain With Dhikr
If there was one thing that was constant on my dad’s tongue during this whole year of trial.. it was his remembrance of God.
He kept calling to Allah through his pain; he would say “La ilaha illa Allah” often, send salawaat, recite some Quran when he was feeling better, and generally make dua asking Allah to forgive him or make it easy for him.
I remember my heart smiling whenever he made a dua or a remembrance – it reminded me of a story of a sheikh who was once asked when should doctors make a decision to turn off life support. And his response was, “Is there a chance the patient can make one tasbih? or one istighfar?”.
Every tasbih, istighfar, and salaat my dad was able to make was a means of elevation alhamdulillah.
14. God Loves You
Death came to a man in the time of the Messenger of Allah; may Allah bless him and grant him peace. A man said, “He was fortunate,” as he had died without being tried by illness. The Messenger of Allah, may Allah bless him and grant him peace, said, “Alas for you, what will let you know that if Allah had tried him with illness, He would have wiped out his wrong actions.” Muwatta Malik
There was a stretch when dad felt good enough to attend Jumuah prayers in his wheelchair. After Jumuah, we would go around the park and get some sun and fresh air.
In one of these walks, a security guard who remembered dad from an earlier encounter came running to him and said: “God loves you a LOT… that’s why He’s testing you.” – it was the most beautiful reminder of the benefit of illness and trials despite the pain.
15. Dealing with constant worry
The burden of worry was shared by my family – from worrying about dad’s symptoms and overall condition to managing our finances with the mounting medical and care expenses.
Amid a troubling period, I received this poem from a friend, which helped to keep my worries at ease:
“Some eyes stay awake, and some sleep,
Regarding matters that could be or not be.
As much as you can, keep worry away from the soul;
Weighing yourself down with worries is madness.
Your Lord sufficed you yesterday with what was;
He will suffice you tomorrow with what will be.”
(Imam Al-Shafii)
It’s true – every time I thought I was getting overwhelmed with worry (will he make it tonight? Can we afford a full-time nurse? Did the insurance get back to us)… Allah eased the worry and facilitated a way out.
16. The power of a mother/wife
The rock in our family during this whole period was my mother.
Although my brother and I tried our best to be with dad and help out, my mother set the high bar for what a loyal, caring, and dedicated wife can be.
From sleepless nights when she checked on dad every few hours to the selfless care she gave him.
She was so concerned about his cleanliness and physical well-being that she’d go the extra mile in things we thought were “trivial” for someone who was dying.
She would brush his teeth, cut his nails, give him a shower or warm bed bath (even when he didn’t want to), treat his skin with cream, oil his limbs, cook him multiple meals (half he refused because he didn’t feel like eating especially towards the end of his life), wash his clothes, sit with him and converse with him.
Her endurance and persistence were exemplary, and I’ll always admire her, and I pray that my siblings and I can provide the same care for her as she gets older, insha’Allah.
17. Making Tough Medical Decisions
One of the complex aspects of caring for a terminally ill person is balancing between medical interventions that would help someone stay alive and learning when to “let go” and not prolong the patient’s suffering.
I read a book a few years ago called “Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End” by Atul Gawande that helped with these decisions.
The key message of the book is a reminder that throwing medication and treatment at a dying person might be doing more harm than good. At some point, palliative (pain) management care is the best course of action for a peaceful and dignified death.
When you realize someone’s time is written, you start wondering how far do you want to go with medicine. If you can’t prolong life, then why prolong suffering?
I often found myself going back to that book’s lessons and the central question the author was trying to address: “How do we make life worth living when we’re weak and frail and can’t fend for ourselves anymore?”
We often grew up thinking that doctors can “fix it all” with some pills, surgeries, or a new piece of technology. Instead, I learned that death was humbling for us and everyone in the medical field.
One of the toughest medical decisions we had to make as a family was to sign an “Allow for natural death” form. The form stated that the doctors believed no further treatment would help and that we accept the consequences.
I felt that was the best medical decision we made.
18. The moment of death
One day I was researching “How does someone die” and I learned that people die in 4 stages:
- Stage 1: social death: when a person retreats to his room or hospital bed and is unable to engage in social life
- Stage 2: psychological death: When a person’s personality changes, and goes through delirium, confusion, and the throes of death.
- Stage 3: biological death: when the organs start failing, and the body is unable to cope with the ‘system shut down.’
- Stage 4: Physiological death: this is the moment when the ruh leaves the body, and the person is pronounced dead.
I witnessed my dad go through the first 3 stages in the last few months, but I always wondered how the moment of death would happen – where would I be… what would I say… Last Thursday, I got my answers:
- At 3 pm, dad’s situation was getting critical, and I told my mom that we should spend the night at the hospital. So we decided to go home, have a quick bite, and rest a bit to prepare ourselves for a long, sleepless night.
- At 4 pm, my brother called me from the hospital saying that dad’s blood pressure and oxygen were dropping and we should rush back.
- At 4:30 pm, we reached the hospital, and we sat by dad’s side. Holding his hands, reciting Quran, doing athkar, and waiting…
- At 5:45 pm, I completed a khatam of the Quran next to His bedside and prayed for a beautiful end.
- At 6:10 pm, dad took three breaths.. and then he died.
This was the first time I witnessed someone dying this close.
It was a moment of awe and spiritual depth that doesn’t compare to anything I had experienced before, and I thank Allah SWT that He inspired us to say what pleased Him at that moment:
إِنَّا لِلَّهِ وَإِنَّآ إِلَيْهِ رَٰجِعُونَ
To Allah, We Belong, and to Him, We Shall Return.
19. Personal Pain vs. Ummah Pain
Going through this journey with dad was a personal journey of pain and loss for me and my family.
However, while we were dealing with dad’s pain in the comfort of a home and hospital, I couldn’t help but feel the pain of our brothers and sisters in Gaza who don’t get a chance to care for their ill or give their dead a decent burial.
I had a year to process that dad was dying and leaving us…many of our brothers and sisters had milliseconds as their children, parents, spouses, and relatives were blown to pieces by bombs dropped from the sky and sea.
Although this was a tough time for me and my family, it was even tougher for our Ummah.
The combination of witnessing death so close and witnessing the genocide happening in Gaza has fueled my desire to continue this work at Productive Muslim- for life is short, and the Ummah needs us to step up.
May Allah SWT make us a means of victory for our Ummah, and may Allah SWT use us and not replace us to save our brothers and sisters in Gaza and beyond.
The Journey Ahead and a moment of gratitude
I’m still processing my dad’s death…as I was telling my close friends “Alhamdulillah, I’m doing ok…not sure if it hasn’t hit me yet..or my grieving process started early..”
Despite the challenging year we endured – I’m thankful to Allah SWT that He guided us every step of the way.
I’m thankful for being part of the Ummah of Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) that taught us how to approach death, what to say and do at the moment of death, and how to treat and bury our dead with respect.
I’m thankful to my mother who showed us the meaning of sacrifice and loyalty.
I’m thankful to my brother, Rayyan, who was my thinking partner whenever we had to make tough decisions and for the many nights he stayed up while I went home to rest.
I’m thankful to my sister, Fatma, who was the spiritual rock in the family constantly reminding us to do good on behalf of my father.
I’m thankful to my wife, Farah, who eased my sacrifice and encouraged me to spend this year with my dad while she had to adjust to a new country and new surroundings.
I’m thankful to my children – who gifted my dad with so many smiles and laughter and gave me temporary relief from the burden of watching my father slowly die.
I’m thankful to my close network of advisors and friends who were there every step of the way, lending me a judgment-free space to rant, brainstorm, and express the ups and downs of my journey. I honestly couldn’t have asked for better friends.
I’m thankful to my extended family and dad’s network of close friends, who kept visiting us and showing us support.
Alhamdulillah.
I pray Allah SWT grants my father Jannat ul firdaws for the patience he displayed and grants us all a good ending.
If you read this article and you benefitted from it – please pray for my father and if you want, please give sadaqah on his behalf.
JazakumAllah khair.
