“How can you bid farewell to someone you can’t imagine living without?”[1]
As I read this sentence, a mix of emotions fills my heart, and I try to cope with it. The feeling that the word “farewell” evokes seems insurmountable, like an unconquerable challenge.
Lately, I’ve been consumed by various thoughts about farewells. Was it my realization that nothing is permanent, or the constant feeling that something will slip away from my grasp at any moment? I cannot say for sure. But perhaps the hardest part is losing what you are most attached to. When I think about how they managed to bear it, I wonder, “How did they endure?” Yet, people managed to overcome these events.
Wasn’t this a special grace from the Creator?
That’s another topic that’s been on my mind. The loss that’s hardest for humans is always what’s most valuable. For example, I wonder, how did they bid farewell to you? How devastated they must have been afterward, O Messenger of God! Undoubtedly, you were most precious to them. How did God bestow such patience upon them?
How fiercely the Honorable Ali, may God honor him, cried by your grave, and how he longed to join you.
And what about the Honorable Umar? That brave Companion whose walk was followed by the fear of death, how he must have suffered in your absence.
The sobs of the Honorable Aisha, who had been by your side since childhood, how they must have lingered in her throat.
Even though the Honorable Fatimah, the only one from your blood, knew that she would be the first to join you, how did she still endure the separation…
How did the Honorable Hasan and Husayn, whom you never put down from your shoulders, whose heads you caressed and loved, feel, who were taken away by people’s cruelty?
Abu Ayyub al-Ansari, whose home was filled with the fragrance of roses, how could he ever roam freely again in that house?
“Whoever wants to see a Paradise-bound person on Earth should look at Talha ibn Ubaydullah!” Hasn’t every step he took on Earth spread sorrow, O Prophet?
Your friend, your Companion on the journey, your Companion in the Hijrah, the Honorable Abu Bakr, didn’t he see you everywhere he looked, O Messenger of God?
Your son-in-law, the generous Caliph, whose generosity was renowned, the Honorable Uthman, how did he not tremble in your absence.
Khalid ibn al-Walid, who commanded armies and conquered cities, the “Sword of God” as you called him, how diminished he must have felt in your absence.
The black pearl of Islam, Bilal ibn Rabah… How he must have struggled to recite the call to prayer with his beautiful voice after you. Could he recite without his voice trembling, O Messenger of God?
There are many more, but these are the ones my pen has written.
While I get upset and frustrated even at the slightest loss of my belongings, what did they go through?
How did God bestow such patience and endurance upon them in those days?
Of course, the blessed martyrs must be rejoicing on the other side.
The first teacher of Islam… That handsome youth, Mus’ab ibn Umayr… How happy he must be, O Messenger of God!
“I don’t know which to be happier about, the conquest of Khaybar or the return of Ja’far!” Hasn’t the joyous tears of Ja’far radiated from his eyes when he returned to you, O Prophet?
What about your family members, your daughter Zainab, Umm Kulthum, and Qasim; that moment must have truly felt like being in Paradise.
And Hamza? That giant of a man who wrestled with lions, how carefree and joyous he must be upon reuniting with you.
And Hatice, the wound of her heart…
As I ponder these thoughts, I take a deep breath and turn my gaze outward as I hear that blessed voice.
I find tranquility in the call to prayer.
I listen until it’s over, then I close my window.
I turn to my prayer mat and dissolve into the serenity of the morning prayer. Undoubtedly, the greatest tranquility lies in this.
I bow down in prostration. In those moments, only He truly understands me. He becomes the remedy for all my troubles. I raise my hands and pray.
“O God, grant me the patience of Job and the manners of Khadijah. Make me among those who join the ones who have met our beloved Prophet.”
Amin.
[1] Serkan Karaismailoğlu, Pia Mater, İstanbul: Elma Yayınevi, 2019, p. 275.
