Between hope and fear

She was semi-white, limp and drenched in water.

I remember taking her from my father’s arms, running into the house and trying to do CPR on her. I remember running out of the house with her to the doctor I didn’t know who apparently lived on the corner. I ran a couple of steps, then got ushered into a car with her and hurried to a surgery nearby.

Hearing she’d drowned they directed us towards the doctor’s room, and after quickly examining her, he calmly told me to take her to the ER of the closest hospital as she didn’t look very good and they didn’t have the infrastructure there to see to her.

That’s when it started. My heart started going between hope and fear, fearing for my little girl’s life, but truly hoping she’d somehow be okay. Frantic in my mind, I recited salawat for her, all the while praying that Allah brings her back. She started coughing, and colour came back into her face, but still she was limpish and not responding as she usually does to my calls. And then, somewhere along the way I had a moment of clarity, and realised that whichever way it went, Allah was All-Knowing and was allowing things to unfold in our best interests. My heart became content then, and though I wanted her to live, I knew my Allah would allow to happen whatever was in the best interests of our family. I didn’t know it then, but she would be our miracle.

Into the Emergency Room we took her, yet my heart was content. Previous Emergency Room visits with Amatullah didn’t see me as content as on that day, and even in my state of worry, I marveled at that feeling of contentment. It could only have come from Allah.

We were ushered out of the ER and asked to wait in the waiting area, where a doctor came to tell us that my Maryam would be put on a ventilator and admitted to ICU.

Before that day, the words ‘ER’, ‘admitted’ and ‘ICU’ would fill my eyes with tears and my heart with worry, but this time it was a relief, because all control was taken out of my hands, there were no ‘what ifs’, just pure (forced) reliance on my Rabb… and it was liberating.

Back at ICU though, seeing my energetic little girl laying motionless, my heart started flipping between hope and fear once more. I feared that I wouldn’t get to see her alive and laughing again, that she wouldn’t be herself after that incident and that my life would forever have a void. But then I remembered a narration of the prophet peace be upon him which teaches us that Allah is to his slave whatever the slave thinks of Him. And so I had beautiful thoughts of Allah and fiercely believed He would do whatever was in our best interests and my heart filled with hope. “Live or die, whatever You deem best.”, said the voice in my head “but please Yaa Allah, let her live.”, whispered my aching heart.

This level of hope and fear was one that I hadn’t experienced before and it drove me to do things with a conviction I never knew existed.

Throughout our hospital journey, and even beyond, this level of hope and fear was always present. First when the sedation wore off in ICU and she showed signs of movement,  then when they took her off the ventilator to ‘test’ her breathing, then when she started fighting through the sedation (this was particularly scary coz she was basically moving so much that she had to be restrained, but oh how amazing to see her fighting spirit forcing its way through). When she started waking up and breathing on her own, the relief was indescribable, but then hope and fear presented itself again. What if the scans showed permanent damage to the brain, bones and lungs? What if she would never walk again because of it? But what if I just trusted Allah’s process and knew that He was doing what was best for us. Hope! Whenever my melancholic temperament decided to take me on a tour of worst case scenarios, my Allah was there to put my heart at ease, reminding me through my loved ones to be hopeful of His mercy.

And His mercy presented in different forms; from who found her, to when she was found, to the fact that she was unconscious, to the support we receive from hospital staff and friends, to the gift of her being her old self again post-accident, the list is endless. But His mercy was always there.

My daughter’s accident taught me so much about my Rabb, and gave me a special understanding of the balance of hope and fear I should have in Him. The fear/concern keeping me in check and striving to do that which pleases Him, and the hope/knowledge that He is appreciative of our efforts and will never let the good we do go to waste. And through His mercy, He will, Insha-Allah, enter us into the abode of bliss with those whom we love.

Despite it all, one cannot help but say ‘Alhamdulillah. Alhamdulillah. Alhamdulillah.’ With an overwhelmingly grateful heart. No other situation could have taught me these lessons as deeply as this situation has.

All praise and thanks is to You Yaa Allah, The Lord, Nourisher, Sustained of all things.