Written by Amelia Jafar

“It has taken death to give birth to a whole galaxy of love within me” — Amelia Jafar

I have never experienced a pain more excruciating than losing my father,
But Allah knows best.

Subhanallah, He surely does. Allah doesn’t take something away from you without giving you something in return. This time He had given me love. I like to think He knew how torn my insides would be, so He opened a floodgate of love and flowed it my way.

It’s normal to feel the hurt, the grief, the processing into acceptance, but I can’t say speak of my father’s death without speaking about love. And love in this context isn’t just from the family, friends, people who used to work with him, strangers, but also, the love I felt that could have only come from God.

God’s been dropping blessings upon blessings, before and after death happened. I lived in New Zealand at the time of my father’s passing. I received a call at 8 pm from my brother that he passed away. Coincidentally, the last flight out of Auckland was at midnight. Literally made it just in time to catch the last flight out. At the airport, the kind flight attendant upgraded my seat so I would be the first one out of plane. I was seated next to a man of God. We prayed for my father in the flight. I made it in time to see my father one last time before they drove him to the cemetery. I couldn’t count then number of people who showed me and family love and support. My dad’s old colleagues approached me and told stories about him and how much he used to talk about me. All these things that had happened, it seems too perfectly aligned to doubt that it came from God. If I had received a call at 1130 pm, I wouldn’t have made it to the funeral. It’s the first time I’ve ever felt like that — I was sad, but I was at peace. At peace because I believed, God was making it happen in a way that I would hurt the least and that to me, was a testament of His love.

The thing about death is, your overwhelming pain is a built-up of the love you have for the person who died and it has no where to go. So you weep. You weep because the one thing that is innate for you to do, you can’t. Perhaps, all it takes is redirection. A redirection of love because although the physical person isn’t here, the soul is in barzakh. A place between the now and the moment the last trumpet blows. I am redirecting my love for my father, in terms of prayer. In terms of continuing his legacy through investing in communities, in people.

God has done everything He possibly could to aid my soul. I believe He does this to all, we just haven’t taken the time to slow it down, and notice it.

My point is, I don’t want to speak to you about how God took my father back. My father has always belonged to Him. Don’t we all? Today, I want to tell you about how gentle God’s love is and if you’re looking close enough, you will notice, He has always been there to show you love. After all, His name is الْوَدُودُ.

May you find your Ramadan witnessing God’s love and growing your love for Him.

Featured photography by Omair Shah @_omair.s

Thank you Amelia, for sharing such a personal and reflective piece that is sure to bring light to those who read.

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