A Year Ago, Today (4)

Please note that the short sentences and empty space made between each sentence in this post are intentional. They signify the emptiness the writer felt when recording one of the tragedies in her life.

I woke up.

My heart was beating fast.

I looked outside the car window.

No sign of Liza.

Sigh.

Was just a dream.

The clock showed 8:20am.

I better get in now.


Liza was still at Papa’s bedside, awake.

‘Did you knock on the car door earlier?’

‘No, why?’

‘I dreamt you did. I’m so sorry I slept until morning’

‘No, it’s okay. You haven’t slept past few days pun kan?’

‘How’s Papa?’

‘Macam ni la’

Of course. What did I expect? Papa sitting up reading Robert Ludlum?

‘I hope it’s today’

Liza just nodded.

Ya Allah, hidupkanlah dia jika hidup itu lebih baik dan matikanlah dia, jika mati itu lebih baik.

Make it easy, God.

‘Uncle Kamal wants to come. I’ll pick them up’, Liza said.

Uncle and my cousin spent the night at Papa’s house. Poor them.

‘Go ahead’


I looked at Papa.

‘La ilahaillallah, La ilahaillallah, La ilahaillallah’


Nina came.

She looked at Papa, as a doctor this time.

‘I wanna tell you something’, she said

‘What?’

‘I think he’s no longer with us’

‘What?’

‘Yes, the machine helps him breathe, but that’s the machine, not him. He’s losing colour. See?’

She showed me Papa’s fingernails.

‘They’re blue, Ayu. And look at his face. He sweat yeaterday. No traces of sweat now. He’s cold’

No. Please don’t say he left when I was there, sleeping in the car.

‘Jap, I mintak second opinion’, she grabbed her phone and talked to a doctor friend of hers.

‘What did he say?’

‘Well, technically, he said, Papa is still alive. The machine is helping his heart to beat, yes, but the heart can stop whenever it wants to. So the heart is still beating. He is still ‘alive’’

Ok. I wondered whether that statement was given to provide some kind of consolation to me. But consoled, I was not. I don’t know what to feel.

Nina read the Yassin.

Uncle Kamal, Liza and cousin arrived.


That afternoon, Uncle Kamal went to Masjid for Solat Jumaat.

It was Liza, Nina and I.


Mama’s best friend came.

‘How are you guys doing?’

‘We’re ok, Aunty’

She sat at the bedside.


She was talking about something when Nina realized.

The BP is low. The heartbeat too.

No.

Papa...say ‘La ilahaillallah’...say it with me Pa. Say it with me.

‘A’u zubillahi misnash syaitonnirrajim’

Say it Papa. Say it.


Nina was in tears.

Liza was continually reciting the syahadat.

‘Bye Dad, we won’t see you again, will we?’, Nina's tears streamed down her face, her hand on Papa’s shoulder.

‘I’m sorry, Pa’

I cried.

More than I ever thought I could.

‘La ilahaillallah, La ilahaillallah, La ilahaillallah’

I was holding Papa’s hand, Nina too. Liza was near his ear, whispering the syahadat.

The monitor showed that his heart is beating slower.

It showed more straight lines.

And then the beep.

The long, loud beep.

1:45pm, Papa left, on a Friday.



We brought Papa home.

Many people came.

Mostly the same faces who came the days before.


‘Waris Allahyarham diminta untuk mandikan jenazah’

Liza came in and poured a water on Papa, from shoulder to toes.

Nina and I did too.

He was wrapped in white cloth, we each gave him a kiss goodbye.


We were fighting for time.

Papa was brought to the nearby surau for prayers

Papa was brought to the graveyard.

Papa was buried.

Papa’s place was near Mama’s.


We went home after that.

Home.

I looked at Papa’s bed.

He’s not there.