اللّهُ أكبر اللّهُ أكبر
Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar
Allah is Great, Allah is Great
اللّهُ أكبر
Allahu Akbar
Allah is Great
لا إلَهَ الا اللّه
La illaha il Allah
there is no God, but Allah
اللّهُ أكبر اللّهُ اكبر
Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar
Allah is Great, Allah is Great
و لِلّه الحمدَ
walilahil Hamd
to Him belongs all Praise
اللّهُ أكبرُ كَبيِرَا
Allahu Akbaru Kabeera
Allah is the Greatest
وَالحَمدُ لِلّهِ كَثِيرا
wal-Hamdulilahi katheera
And all Praise is due to Him
وَ سُبحَان اللّهِ
wa Subhan allahi
And Glory to Allah
بُكرَةً وَأصْيِلا
bukratan wa aseila
eventide and in the morning
لا إلَهَ الا اللّه
La illaha il Allah
there is no God, but Allah the Unique
صَدَقَ وَعدَه
sadaqa wa'dah
He has fulfilled His Promise
وَنَصَرَ عبده
wa nasara abda
and made Victorious His servant
وأعزَ جُنَده
wa a'azza jundahu
and made Mighty His soldiers
وَهزم الأحْزَابَ وحْدَه
wa hazamal-ahzaaba wahdah
and defeated the confederates
لا إلَهَ الا اللّه
La illaha il Allah
there is no God, But Allah
وَلا نَعبُد الا أياه
wa laa na'budu illa iyyah
He alone we worship
مُخلِصِّينَ لَهُ الدّيِنَ
mukhlessena lahud-deena
with sincere and exclusive devotion
وَلوْ كَرِهَ الكَافِروُن
walaw karehal-Kafeeroon
even though the idolaters hate it
اللّهمَ صَلِّ على سيْدنَا مُحَمد
Allahumma salli ala sayyedna Muhammad
O Allah, have Mercy on our Prophet Muhammad
وَعَلى آلِ سيْدنَا مُحَمد
wa ala aalie sayyedna Muhammad
and on the family of our Prophet Muhammad
وَعَلى اصْحَابِ سيْدنَا مُحَمد
wa ala as-haabie sayyedna Muhammad
and on the companions of our Prophet Muhammad
وَعَلى أنصَارِ سيْدنَا مُحَمد
wa ala ansari sayyedna Muhammad
and on the helpers of our Prophet Muhammad
وَعَلى أزوَاجِ سيْدنَا مُحَمد
wa ala azwajie sayyedna Muhammad
and on the wives of our Prophet Muhammad
وَعَلى ذُرِّيَةِ سيْدنَا مُحَمد
wa ala dhurreyatie sayyedna Muhammad
and on the progeny of our Prophet Muhammad
وَ سَلّم تَسْلِيماَ كَثّيرا
wa sallim tasleeman katheera
and Bestow upon them much peace
As twilight nestled into the blanket of a moonless night, as the faithful finished their Maghrib prayer, a special call, the takbir, reverberated from mosques throughout the country, throughout the world.
Allahu Akbar. God is Great. The takbir echoed throughout the land to bid farewell to the month of Ramadhan, and to welcome Syawal, a month of celebration and thanksgiving.
A month of remembrance.
As a child, celebrating Eidulfitri was the highlight of my year. It was the only time my siblings and I had the chance to meet up with our grandparents, aunts and uncles, and cousins. It was the only time we would go on a holiday, a roadtrip to Johor Bahru. It was also the only time we would get an influx of money from relatives and strangers whom our parents claimed were our relatives, and we would compare who among us three would get the most (no competition, really. Kasha would almost always win, being the eldest. Faiz would sometimes win as he's the youngest and, back then, the cutest--being the middle child sucks big time).
More than that, so much more than that, Eid was the only time I got to visit my second favorite person in the whole world, my grandma.
My late grandma.
You see, I've been wanting to write this post since 2007, when she left us. Five years. Five years in my head, and even as I wrote this, the thought that dominated my head: too soon. Too soon. And this post was not meant to be about my grandma, but about my patients.
But like everthing in this world, they are interconnected.
Tok Mak--we used to call her Tok Jah, but that's a confusing story--was all about life, which was ironic. She had not experienced life much outside what Tok Bak and later on her children provided for her. She also had a multitude of health problems that required surgeries and lifelong medications. But her soul was vibrant, full of life. You could see it dancing in her eyes, you could appreciate it in her wonder at everything new. She lived vicariously through her children, but she was also adventurous, willing to try new things.
Part of what I loved the most about Tok Mak was the way she made me feel special. I think she treated all her grandchildren the same, but her face would light up whenever she saw me. I could tell that I was her favorite. For someone who suffered (and still does) from Middle Child Syndrome, I clung on to that secret knowledge.
Even though she would almost always mistake my name and called me "As" instead of "Fadz".
Technicalities.
I was Tok Mak's favorite, and I dare my siblings and cousins to challenge me.
If you've had the pleasure of knowing my mom, you'll get an idea how Tok Mak was. Mama's becoming more and more like Tok Mak with each passing day, even though when Tok Mak was alive, the both of them could never really see each other eye to eye. Mama had always felt that whatever she did was not good enough, and she was always desperate to please Tok Mak. Even then it wouldn't be enough. She would get frustrated, and they would fight, and before we left for KL, they'd cling to each other and bawl their hearts out.
What I saw, what Mama may not have seen, was how Tok Mak looked at her when she talked, how Tok Mak delighted in the things Mama brought back. I don't think Mama saw how proud Tok Mak was of her.
Kinda like my relationship with Mama.
Tok Mak was all about life, but for the last 5 years, I have carried with me not the memories of how she lived, but how she died. I have carried with me the guilt of someone who could have done something. Something more. Anything.
You see, there's another irony in this story. Tok Mak passed away from stroke. To be precise, she had an ischemic stroke of the right middle cerebral artery distribution. She had been able to talk, to communicate, but she deteriorated the third day.
And there was nothing I could do to save her.
Several weeks before Tok Mak had the stroke, I had operated on a patient who had a similar affliction. I had, in a way, saved his life. He was someone's husband, someone's father, someone's grandfather. Sure, half his body would be paralyzed for life, and he became bedbound, and not only the quality of his life, but that of his family was affected.
But he lived, dammit.
When I found out Tok Mak had collapsed from a stroke, I was in Port Dickson attending a 2-week induction course. Kasha was about to get engaged. Tok Mak was admitted in a private hospital. She was lucid. I told Mama with a certain finality to get back to JB as fast as she could before it was too late. Sure, I could have been more delicate about it. Sorry, Kasha. Sorry I hung a stormcloud over your engagement.
I could not get out of the course. I could only call Mak Su every few hours to get updates. When I found out Tok Mak lost consciousness, I insisted that Mak Su ask for a repeat CT scan. In my mind I knew what was happening: edema had set in, and Tok Mak's right brain had swelled so much that her intracranial pressure was dangerously increased. She needed an urgent surgery.
Her Neurologist reassured Mak Su, and informed her that an MRI would be done in the morning. I was howling away in frustration, because she didn't need an MRI. She needed an urgent CT and an urgent decompression.
I was over two hundred kilometers away.
I was not there.
I couldn't do anything other than make a few calls to my colleagues at HJB.
By the next morning, it was already too late.
When I finally get to drive to JB, two nights before an examination I could not afford to miss, I knew there was nothing in the would I could do to bring back the life in Tok Mak's eyes. I arrived at the hospital at 01:00, and Mama and her siblings were camped outside the ICU. Mama managed to talk the nurses into letting me in. I saw Tok Mak. I saw her MRI. I saw one of the few persons whose life I would have saved above everyone else's. Yet I could no nothing for her. In my mind, I saw the patients, just like her, that I had operated upon. That I had saved.
I have not told anyone this, but when I reached her side, I held Tok Mak's hand--I can still vividly recall the texture of her fingers, of her palm, of her warmth--I whispered the syahadah in her right ear, and I whispered in her ear, "Tok Mak rehat, ya? Assalamualaikum, Tok Mak."
Rest now, Tok Mak. Peace be with you.
A single tear trickled from her eye. She was already comatose, with a GCS of 3/15, so it was impossible for her to hear my words, my prayers. She was already at a better place. But that single tear did trickle. And so did mine. I had bade her goodbye.
The one thing I could do for her, that I did for her, was telling Mama to bring Tok Mak home. They did, later in the afternoon. Tok Mak passed away at 22:10, in the home she loved, surrounded by a house filled with family members. She sighed once, twice, and stopped breathing.
In life, Tok Mak was one of the kindest, gentlest souls. She had blessed us all with her vibrance, and when she left us, Allah blessed her with the greatest gift of all: a gentle death surrounded by family and prayers.
Allahu Akbar. God is Great.
I know that I have no say over life and death. I know that the cards were meant to fall as they did, that Mama managed to make peace with Tok Mak while she was lucid, that they managed to introduce Ayis to Tok Mak, that all the events that took place was for the best for her, but deep inside, I will always carry this guilt.
Five years have passed. Five years of operating on stroke patients, five years of consoling families of patients I could not help. And not only stroke patients, but others as well. The week before this Eid, I had discharged home a young lady I had operated upon. I told her to celebrate Eid with her family. I had operated on a young man who would not wake up for Eid, and his family would spend Eid in the hospital instead of celebrating it with relatives. I had been involved with the management of a young girl with an aggressive cancer, who most likely would never live to experience her first heartache.
I have won battles. I have lost battles. I have experienced stalemates.
I'm still fighting the war.
I could not save my own grandmother. Every year during Eid, I am reminded of it. Eid has lost most of its charm on me. But little by little, I remember more of Tok Mak's life instead of her death. When I tried to weave a ketupat using ribbons, I could not do it right until I heard Tok Mak's instruction brushing the back of my mind. I heard the memory of her voice. And I weaved the ketupat with ease after that. Yesterday, after buying more food for dinner than I should have, I joked with Mama about how Tok Mak would have reacted on seeing the food. Tok Mak would complain I bought too much, then cup her hands in prayer, and hold my face between her hands and kiss my forehead.
That was what Tok Mak would have done.
That is what Mama does to me, nowadays.
I could not save my own grandmother, but I'll be damned if I don't do my best to save someone else's grandmother, grandfather, mother, father, daughter, son, sibling, cousin, husband, wife, fiance, lover, friend.
I'm still fighting the war.
I am.
It is hard to go through life without the one you love the most, someone who made you feel special, but you do. You put one foot foward, then the other, you breathe, and you move on. You remember the good times, the bad times, and you continue living, because that is how you fight the war. Things will never be the same, but change can be good sometimes.
May you find the strength to live life to the fullest.
May you remember.
May you gain strength from remembering.
Salam Eidulfitri, everyone.
May peace be with you always, Tok Mak.
Al-Fatihah.
