If a human being claims to have found a way of life in which no calamity will ever occur, they should absolutely take that path — and tell us too! But until then… what I have learned and read is that no human being can avoid the calamities of life.
My father taught me to “face the situation,” not so much through his words, but mostly through his actions. He had nerves of steel. The most important example I personally remember was how he took care of his prayers, no matter what. I remember that at the time, it would puzzle me, and sometimes even irritate me, that in grave situations, he wouldn’t do something “special” — he would just perform salah. Now, after around two decades, I understand how important that is. This is what God told Musa (PBUH) to do when He sent him to Pharaoh.
I am in no way comparable to my father, but I try — in every facet of my life — to imitate him, even if it feels fake, even if inside, I am trembling and shaking. That may sound wrong, but from experience I can tell you one thing: it teaches you not to overreact, and it also buys you some time to assess the situation objectively, rather than emotionally.
When calamity strikes — and it most certainly will, no matter what — learn to engage yourself in things you can actually do. These might be mundane things: talking to people, making food, serving food, taking care of your daily prayers, or actively guarding your routines. To sit and sink into the mire of your own thoughts is like bathing in still water. The only safe water to be vulnerable in is running water, because it washes away the dirt that otherwise sets in.
My mother passed away on December 27th, 2018. The two days surrounding her death — the day before the 27th, and everything that followed — are now stuck in my mind like a movie looping endlessly. Right after her death, I entered a completely different emotional state. I wanted to run away from that memory. The cold touch of her hand after death — its coldness got stuck inside me like a pain. I was scared and wanted to stop thinking about it. I tried to rid myself of that feeling by talking about those two days. I wanted to get it out of my system. It didn’t work. All day and night, my mind was stuck there, playing the same reel over and over, and I had no control over it.
I wanted time to pass quickly so I could leave this whole traumatic experience behind me — to lessen the pain, the trauma, the sensitivity. I just wanted it to go away.
How could I do that? As I said, my subconscious had learned from my father: get busy. But wasn’t I busy enough? I was working a full-time job, teaching five days a week, had two kids, and was six months pregnant when my mom passed away. But… that was just not enough. It still wasn’t helping me pass the time quickly enough. If I didn’t get tired enough by night, I couldn’t sleep. My brain wouldn’t shut off completely. I needed more work to distract myself, to stay busy enough to reach a point of exhaustion — so that when I went to bed, I actually slept. Not an easy task for a pregnant woman.
I started giving tuitions on weekends. But… it still wasn’t enough. Then I found an old scarf and discovered my embroidery supplies in a bag. So here I was, after a full day of work, in the evening — after cooking, cleaning, and everything else — sitting on my bed, doing embroidery. Then in February 2019, I started taking my kids to soccer practices in the evenings and games on weekends. For the first time in my life, I kept a diary to remember each day’s appointments. Every day, I rushed from one place to another, trying to meet all the appointments, running all the errands.
It helped. It was the exact kind of work I needed — not so much strain that it broke me, but enough to keep me like a busy bee. A positive kind of “business” all day, until I would fall asleep. Talking to a friend or family member wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough because the more you talk about it, the more you sink into it — into depression. It’s a cycle with no end, especially after losing a parent or someone that close to you, someone reliable and trustworthy. For me, my routine became my coping mechanism. Instead of giving in to destructive thoughts and feelings — the kind that can drain your time, energy, and sanity after such a painful event — I tried to create positive, healthy routines for myself.
I’m not sure if it will surprise you that even after all that, I still found myself crying hysterically — especially while praying and while driving. Those were the times when my thoughts would flow freely, when I wasn’t multitasking — when I wasn’t busy enough to stop or divert my thought process. And people like me — introverts — hate to show their feelings in front of others. We portray ourselves as strong. But that didn’t diminish the value of the coping mechanisms I had found or make others more viable. I still feel that talking about it in front of people doesn’t help. I feel like no one can, or ever will, fully comprehend the exact way I felt every moment through it. It was my unique pain, something no one else can grasp. But the value of my routine wasn’t in erasing the pain — it was in the life it gave back to me. If I could make it through that day, working and fighting, then I could make it through the next… and the next.
I was still hurting. I remember that two or three weeks after her burial — time was fuzzy — my husband took us to her grave: me, the kids, and him. I thought that when I went there, I would find… closure, or something else. I can’t say exactly what. I stood there, raised my hands to pray, and couldn’t stop myself. I broke down. I had come searching for a cure, but again, I was tormented. I’m usually very much in control of my emotions when it comes to tears, but there — something strange took over me. Tears ran down my face, and I turned around, walking away with a heavy heart and shaky legs, whispering quite loudly to myself, “This means we cannot have a conversation anymore; I cannot talk to you. I won’t be able to talk to you anymore.”
I figured out: it’s a matter of life and death.
Death is silence. And that hurts. I realized that all those times when she had convinced me that I was her staunch support, it was really the opposite.
Today, after five years, I can turn around, look through my experience, and say that I believe I chose the right way to deal with my pain. And even though, at the time, I was numb and going through the motions, today I can say that all that hard work kept me going in the right direction. It helped my mind stay positive after a calamity that can never happen again — because my mother will never have to die again in this life.
External struggles cannot break you or make you the way your internal struggle can. You cannot control external circumstances — others’ behavior or the obstacles that come your way. You are only responsible for your own actions, your own behavior, and how you tackle your thoughts and feelings in any situation.
I’m not understating the importance of praying and reading the Quran during such circumstances. But to me, these two things need to be in your routine — your normal, your bubble — before any calamity happens. If they’re not already a part of your life, you’ll panic when calamity strikes. You’ll go into a state of shock and negativity that you may never recover from. To help your brain function positively, you must engage in a healthy routine during “normal life.” Prayer and reading the Quran should be a regular part of life — not something you turn to only when a calamity forces you toward God.
It’s just like a student who does their homework daily — they won’t panic the day before the exam, unlike the student who hasn’t studied all year and now wants to cover the entire syllabus in one night. Or think of it like a football team that practices daily. Tournaments aren’t every day! The day of the tournament is not the time to practice your skills. The routine must already be in place for it to help you. In the midst of grief or shock, starting from scratch is nearly impossible. It’s those already-built systems that support you when the storm hits.
The help and support you get from prayer and understanding the Quran will not develop overnight. It is supposed to be built into your system so that when the calamity hits, you can absorb the distress. This is what I have learned from my own experience, and I hope it helps anyone going through something similar in their life.