White abaya in the Haram

The day I performed my first Umrah, I was exceptionally tired. I had checked out of the hotel in Madinah around 11 am the day before, spent the day in the Mosque of the Prophet (May Peace and blessings be upon him), taken the six hour bus to Makkah, and gone straight to Makkah Haram to perform Umrah. Then I prayed Fajr for the next day and laid down for I couldn’t check in to my Makkah hotel until 3 pm that day.

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Anas

I run outside my breath, a gasp. My feet stop, in shock. The moon is full tonight. A breeze slides over my skin. The tide… still crashes on the shore. I try to breathe. I can’t. How has the time not stopped… tonight? I go to the sea. We sit. We wonder. We reminisce. We wonder how many school lunches they spent to fell… a man of his might. The sea takes me in her arms, whispers words of comfort just as meaningless tonight as they have been, for years. He was a man I never met, but with all the pride, and ferocity, of a sister I call him my brother. He was a man I mourn tonight, as the sea’s waves lap at my feet. Blanketed by the dark, there is no one around. I wish I could drown, that the sea will swallow me whole. I feel helpless. The weight of the world… is heavy tonight. I give charity in his name. I pray for him. I hold him in my heart. Every tear that falls from my eyes carries his name, like a cherished pearl. Morning takes me by surprise. ...

Old Pictures

Photo by Josef Maxson on Unsplash They ask to see old photos. I show them. After all, that’s why I kept them: to give my children a sense of their history. Just four more days, then I won’t see them for eighteen. I won’t hold them close or smell the unique fragrances of their heads. They ask for one more, after I say, “The end.” I indulge. I snuggle a little closer. But every picture, as I describe what it is, where it was taken, and the story behind it, takes a toll on me. My breath catches. My heart races. My mouth grows drier by the minute. The nerves in my hands are firing full force. I keep going, until I truly can’t breathe anymore. I say, “Just one more. That’s it.” We stop. I smile and tell them to head upstairs, fighting hard to keep the tremor out of my voice. I hug myself as they run upstairs, trying to catch each other. Then, I hear a whisper: “That was fun, right? Looking at all those pictures?” My heart stops, unknowing. We traverse new territory every d...

Train of thought

There is so much to write. Not enough time. Not enough words. Not enough energy. The kiddos drain me. it was S's half birthday today. R was 'b*tchy' as usual. He has been. Since he left on Monday. He was flirting with me while he was here. And I got all torn up about our relationship. It reminded me of something. Something I hadn't felt since our courtship ended and we married. Perhaps that was the idea. To make me long for him. It didn't quite happen that way. Everything else that has happened in between the flirting of the courtship and the flirting of the first visit after over a year is still fresh in my mind. It didn't make me long for anything or make anything tingle. Made me disgusted. But also made me miss something. I haven't been able to name it yet. I call it R but it isn't R the person that I miss. I do not know what it is. Not yet. Perhaps someday I will. I don't really want to. I also miss A. The camaraderie we shared before R made m...

Story of a life

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