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I felt you move. Tiny tickles inside me
at first, but you just never stopped.
We nicknamed you “Mover Shaker”.
You kicked me incessantly, I could never sleep. I’d
walk around proudly with my vibrating tummy
protruding. I started attending functions that I had
previously made excuses to avoid for so long,
thinking that I’d show those nosy aunties that I too
can have a baby. I welcomed my expanding midriff
and stretch marks as a badge of honour for carrying
you. Can you imagine that li’l ol’ me can nurture a
soul to fruition? I used to spend so long questioning
my barren emptiness that this made me feel like a real
woman. The headiness of your imminent arrival
spurred us through our days. We felt like kids in a
candy store, but with seemingly unlimited funds. At
least our years of dedication to work had afforded us
this luxury. I felt a growing sense of uneasiness
though. Your heart was trying to tell me something.
Were we putting too much pressure on you to
succeed in all the ways we couldn’t? To be the best, to
have the best? Perhaps we should slow the planning
down. So, I did. I rested and I enjoyed the glow you
brought me. Yet, the feeling lingered. Something just
didn’t feel quite right. You were still telling me
something. I drew closer to my Lord, praying for ease
and contentment to once again come my way. I
became restless and asked the doctors to check on
you again. I was assured that all was well, but I just
couldn’t calm down. I knew you. You were a part of
me. I still remember the night our dreams came
crashing down. The pit of my stomach had been
nagging me all day. The kicking had slowed, and then
stopped. Then came the blood. Oh, the red gush that
killed my fantasies! Nothing the doctors did could
have helped you. Just weeks before you were due to
enter this world you were gone; snatched from me.
Inna lilah wa inna ilayhi raji’oon – surely we belong to Allah
and to him we shall return. This prayer should bring
solace, but my heart was being hammered into a
million pieces. I didn’t want to listen to anything else.
Your heart was missing in mine. This damn body.
How could it betray me like that? It showed me a
glimpse of love, dangled it in front of me and then
ripped it out of my clutches once I finally caught it. I
hated myself. What could I have done differently? I
punched myself, hitting my head incessantly until it
felt like mush. What the actual fuck…?
I saw your body. My precious little girl. Deathly
white, alien like. Your limbs were all there, I even
counted your fingers and toes. Nothing was out of
place! Why did you leave me? My body trembled, the
shaking wouldn’t stop. They pulled you away to put
you into the ground. But where were you going? You
were mine, our hearts were one. Only, they weren’t.
Had I dreamt it, that bond that could stand the test of
time and realm? I needed you, dammit! I was gone,
lost in a dark void where all I could do was blame-
myself, the doctors, my husband, anyone. If my body
was going to betray me, I would betray it. I stuffed
myself, gorging on unhealthy food. I stopped
exercising, rarely leaving my darkened room. I felt as
though I’d let you down. My husband, who himself
was grieving the loss of a child, attempted to prop me
up. Initially, I rebelled. I was the most hurt as I had
carried you. What could he possibly know about how
that felt? I was all alone in my grief. I poured through
the nursery, holding on to the fine things we had
bought for you to use. None of it mattered now. You
were gone. Tears streamed down my face and I cried
for all those moments we wouldn’t get to spend
together and the experiences we would not be able to
have. I gave it away, all of it. I couldn’t bear to see the
reminders of you all around me. I wanted to burn it
all, but sanity prevailed as I thought of all those
children who currently needed these things more than
I needed a bonfire to ease my suffering. Allah works
in mysterious ways though. He must have wanted me
back, deemed me important enough to once again
guide me to the light. The same aunties who annoyed
me now shared words of wisdom. Allah almighty
says: “By Him in whose hands is my life, a child will
pull its mother to Jannah if she is patient”. It calmed
my heart to know that my angel was waiting for me in
Jannah. I slowly came back to life. I wondered how
people processed loss in the absence of faith as it’s
the only thing that pulled me through those dark
days. There is no blame. If Allah willed it; it will be.
I’m back to my career, but I’ve realised how
important it is to live life to the fullest. We give back
to our community, support orphanages, travel the
world and enjoy every moment we have to live. Time
is an amazing thing. It’s now five years since our
hearts were severed and while I think of the child I
lost and look forward to meeting her in Jannah, I
know that Allah is the best of planners and will only
give us what we can bear. Until then, we will always
have an unbreakable bond.
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