by Umm Zakiyyah
Aliyah was quiet as she digested what Jacob had done, and why. A part of her felt offended, but a bigger part was relieved. It was as if a huge burden had been lifted from her shoulders.
“And I figured since it was handwritten,” he said, “there wouldn’t be any other copies.”
Aliyah moved her head in the beginning of a nod.
“Like you said, death doesn’t turn someone into an angel,” Jacob remarked. “And what we know of killing yourself, it’s a major sin with a pretty severe punishment.”
“That’s true…”
“So the only way a person can take their own life is if they’re blatantly disobeying Allah,” he said, “or suffering from mental illness.” He shrugged. “Either way, nothing they say in a suicide note should be given much weight.” He shook his head, a frown forming at the sides of his mouth. “And the more I thought about it, the more I realized how even reading it could contribute to their punishment in the Hereafter.”
Aliyah squinted her eyes in confusion. “How?”
“Because if they’re not mentally ill,” he said, “any emotional or psychological suffering their sin causes, especially intentionally, then they have to answer for that in front of Allah on the Day of Judgment.”
“SubhaanAllah,” she said. “I never thought about it like that.”
“I didn’t either,” he said. “At least not until I saw how, even after all these years, you remember the pain that boy caused with his note.” He paused thoughtfully.
“It’s one thing to just kill yourself,” Jacob said. “And that’s bad enough. But to leave a note blaming people?” He shook his head, his expression pinched in distaste, as if words couldn’t convey the weightiness of the issue. “A’oodhubillaah,” he said, seeking refuge in Allah. “That’s not a sin I’d want on my record.”
“May Allah protect us,” Aliyah muttered, terrified at the prospect of unjustly blaming someone for anything, even without a suicide attempt.
“Ameen,” he said.
“This just made me think about all those people who kill themselves because people didn’t accept their sinful lifestyle,” she said reflectively.
“I know,” Jacob agreed, nodding. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“And then after they die,” Aliyah said, “foundations and scholarships and other groups are established to support their cause.”
“And they have to answer for every single person they influenced to support something wrong,” Jacob added.
“That,” Aliyah said, “on top of the sin of suicide.” She shook her head. “A’oodhubillaah.”
“Yes,” Jacob said. “A’oodhubillaah.”
Chapter 39
I Wish I Had a Family
“Excuse me for not standing,” Aliyah said as she waddled to the front of the living room of her home, a palm resting on her swollen belly. She lowered herself onto the chair that Salima had placed in front of the women. “But carrying twins is breaking my back,” she said, humor in her tone. She and Mashael exchanged knowing glances though Mashael was pregnant with only a girl while Aliyah’s ultrasound had revealed that she was carrying both a boy and a girl. Reem stood next to Mashael, her veil flipped back, and smiled as she glanced at Mashael’s protruding abdomen.
It was a Friday night in mid-May, and Aliyah was hosting Muslim Marriage Monologues in her home for the first time. After the lease on her apartment expired in February, she and Ibrahim had moved into Jacob’s home. Because he had ultimately decided against selling, Jacob transferred his home into Aliyah’s name as a fulfillment of her mahr, the dowry he had promised upon marriage. He then remodeled it based upon her ideas and directions.
The master bedroom was converted into an office suite with two offices side-by-side, one with a nameplate for Jacob and the other with a nameplate for Aliyah. The main entrance to the bedroom now led to a small hallway with the bathroom on the far end and the office doors along the hall. The master bathroom now displayed the simple sign Restroom on the door to add to the professional atmosphere. Jacob’s former home office was now the master bedroom, and it was the only renovation for which Aliyah suppressed a tinge of guilt. Aliyah hadn’t realized that the installation of a full bathroom into the room could be so complicated and costly.
When Jacob had offered to add a tennis court next to the basketball court outside, Aliyah declined, saying she’d rather save the money for whenever she returned to graduate school. It had been a difficult decision, but Aliyah never returned to work after the day she found out about Deanna’s attempted suicide. The tragedy had made it difficult to readjust to what she’d previously experienced as the mundane normalcy of her life. It was as if her entire world shifted, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t place her feet on solid ground. Perhaps the pregnancy was exacerbating the emotional trial of the experience, but Aliyah had become almost obsessive with checking on Ibrahim and Younus and Thawab throughout the day and into the night to make sure they hadn’t slipped and fallen or stopped breathing.
“Dr. Warren keeps asking about you,” Jacob often teased when he returned home from work, but Aliyah would laugh if off, saying she was quite content as a stay-at-home mom. If given a choice, she would prefer the college environment over the primary school classroom, but Aliyah found it quite rewarding teaching the elementary curriculum to Ibrahim, Younus, and Thawab during their homeschooling sessions each day. They all now attended Qur’an school in the mornings and returned home in the early afternoon for their secular school lessons.
There were days that Aliyah felt sad about giving up the opportunity for tuition reimbursement for graduate school, but she didn’t regret her decision. Like Jacob often reminded her, no one could do it all, and that was a difficult lesson for Aliyah to embrace fully. She had to decide what was most important, and she’d come to the conclusion that her physical and emotional health, as well as the connection between her and her sons, was the highest priority right then. She would likely have another opportunity for a job or graduate school, but she could never get the days, months, or years back with her family.
Fortunately, she and her former-atheist student Robin were now in regular contact, so that helped Aliyah feel connected to the part of her former position that she missed. And because she had officially resigned, she was free to talk to Robin unabated, and it seemed that Robin was close to accepting Islam.
Deanna remained an emotional trigger for Aliyah, so she avoided her former best friend as much as she could. Deanna visited Younus and Thawab once a month, but her visits were supervised. After Deanna’s release from the hospital following her attempted suicide, she’d been in and out of psychiatric facilities and had on more than one occasion tried to physically attack Jacob and Aliyah and threatened to take the children.
When Deanna visited, Aliyah would remain upstairs in her office or in the bedroom, if she was home at all. It remained challenging emotionally and psychologically to keep her distance, however, since Aliyah still felt connected to Deanna in many ways. That Deanna seemed to be genuinely trying to be a better person made it that much more difficult not to give her another chance. But the relationship had become so toxic for Aliyah that the mere sight of Deanna or the sound of her voice incited a migraine and the onset of what felt like preterm labor. So she was forced to let go, even as her anger with Deanna about the suicide note had subsided and Aliyah was now more compassionate and understanding of Deanna’s mental struggles.
“Today, I’m going to read something I wrote a while ago,” Aliyah said. “But I ask you to forgive me in advance for its depressing tone,” she said, a humored expression on her face. “I was in a really bad place at the time, and I had started journaling my thoughts, and this is what I wrote. But,” she said, raising a forefinger as she offered them a weary smile, “I added a few lines at the end in hopes of making it a beneficial message.” She drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “So here it goes.”
Aliyah muttered “Bismillaah” as she glanced at the pa
per in her hand then said, “It’s called, ‘I Wish I Had a Family’…
I wish I had a family.
I hear families are there for you
No matter what.
I hear their blood is thicker than water
Their love is softer than rain
And that no matter what you’re going through
That bond of the womb will take away your pain
I hear that mothers love their daughters
And daughters love their moms
And that nothing is strong enough
Or bad enough
To threaten or break that bond.
I hear that when a child falls
Mommy or Daddy comes to pick them up
I hear that when a child cries
Mommy or Daddy comes to cheer them up
I heard about something called brothers and sisters too
But I’m not sure if it’s true
They say they’re like your protectors and friends
And your advisors and supporters too
And if you hurt, they hurt,
Because that’s what brothers and sisters do
But I think it’s just a rumor
Or maybe just an old wives tale
Because the house I grew up in
Mommies didn’t love their daughters,
And daughters just feared their moms
And it was only when someone wanted something from me
That I heard of the family bond
There was no Mommy or Daddy to pick me up when I fell
Because they were the ones who pushed me
There was no one to hurt when I hurt
Because they were the ones who caused my pain
There was no one to wipe my tears
To hear my cries
To even care I had a soul
And there was no brother or sister to protect me
Or to comfort me
Or advise me
Because compliance and obedience was my only role
But then one day
My life changed
And Allah guided me to His deen
Now I have a family, a faith family
And its bond is stronger than the one I dreamed
I have a Mommy and Daddy in every elder
A brother and sister in every shoulder touched in prayer
I have comforters and advisors
And protectors and supporters
And many friends I know will always be there
So my only hope for my faith family
Is that we cherish this bond with every breath
Because it’s a bond that never breaks, bi’idhnillaah
Even after death
***
The lantern above the back door glowed as Deanna sat on a lounge chair on the balcony overlooking the backyard of her parents’ home. The grass glistened in the darkness of night, and the book YOU CAN BE A BETTER PERSON! lay dog-eared on her lap. The notebook that she had been using to pen her thoughts sat atop the open book, remnants of paper entangled in the spiral wiring from where she’d ripped out pages she could no longer stomach reading. She had crumpled and tossed out the notes of apology to Aliyah that she’d written and scratched out then written again. But tonight, upon her psychiatrist’s urging, she was writing notes of apology to herself.
“I wish that I had the strength and the courage to have faced my own demons so that I could have allowed someone to help me,” former co-host of The View, Star Jones, had said in an interview with Oprah Winfrey that Deanna had watched on YouTube last week. The words had touched a part of Deanna that she didn’t know was there. It was as if the words were spoken from her own heart, and she’d found herself getting choked up by the confession.
Your tongue cannot stop qadr. But it can complicate yours.
Deanna held her pen tight in her fist as she looked at the words she’d written in the first line of the letter of apology to herself. Bracing herself for what she knew she’d written beneath, she pressed her lips together as her eyes crawled to the next line.
So I’m sorry, Janice, for not protecting you better.
Deanna clenched her jaw and looked away from the paper. “For these letters of apology,” her psychiatrist had said, “I need you to talk to Janice instead of Deanna. You cannot heal until you let Janice grieve, and Janice cannot grieve if you suppress her voice. Only when you let Janice express her anger freely and without censure can Deanna be free from pain. Healing cannot begin until you take an honest look at the wound.”
“Child, take your butt to the bathroom and put on some proper clothes and wash that crap off your face.” Deanna winced as she saw the loathing in her father’s eyes as he looked at eight-year-old Janice proudly preparing for her “pretty lady” walk. She wore layers of fake jewelry, oversized heels, red lipstick, eye shadow, and foundation smeared childishly on her face.
But it’s not your fault, Niecey Meesy, Deanna had written.
Upon seeing the silliness of her words, she shook her head and rolled her eyes. “That’s a stupid name,” she said in her head.
Deanna flinched when she realized that these were the exact words Bailey had spoken to her that day. “It’s okay, Niecey Meesy,” Janice had whispered to her alter ego in an effort to offset her offense. “We’ll think of a better name. You’ll see.” Dr. Deanna J. Bivens, she was called now. Was this the better name that Janice wanted?
I made a mistake Janice, and I’m sorry. I’m not apologizing for what Bailey did because that was his sin, not mine. I’m apologizing for what I did when I didn’t let you cry or get angry and when I forced you to forgive before I helped you understand what you were forgiving.
“Forgive. Forgive. Forgive,” Deanna heard her mother’s voice in her mind. “Good Christians love their enemies. So if you are showing any anger, then God is not happy with you.” Deanna’s nose flared and she looked away from the page again. This whole exercise was beginning to feel like an utter waste of time. Deanna had half a mind to rip the pages of apology from the notebook, she felt so stupid reading her soppy words. Could she really take this letter seriously?
“Without censure, Deanna,” her psychiatrist had reiterated. “Without censure. Don’t criticize your words, and don’t criticize Janice’s pain. Both are coming from a place inside you that you’ve kept locked away for too long. Letters like these always sound awkward and humiliating at first,” the woman said. “But that’s only because your trauma has filled you with so much pain that you’re ashamed to even look at or hear yourself with any honesty or compassion. But there’s nothing shameful about listening to anyone with an open heart and mind, let alone yourself.”
Janice, the willingness to make mistakes is a part of emaan, part of our faith in God. So it’s okay that we made a mistake in trying to forgive and run away, instead of face ourselves. It just means we’re human and we need God that much more.
Deanna wrinkled her nose, finding it difficult to believe that she’d written these pretentious words. She sounded like Aliyah.
“You don’t have to fix anything,” Deanna heard Bailey’s voice in her head as he looked hungrily at Janice. “You’re perfect just the way you are.”
Deanna frowned as she found herself agreeing with Bailey even as she wished there was some other voice she could hear say those words. “Don’t tell me you’re almost pushing forty and you still haven’t figured out what the hell is wrong with you?” she heard Asher say to her, and she felt her heart soften toward her efforts of healing. Maybe writing the letter wasn’t such a bad idea.
Janice, don’t let anger get the best of you, Deanna hesitantly read her words. We’re all walking around with wounds, angry at the ones we think inflicted them. But we don’t realize that our anger is only sharpening our own weapons to wound someone else.
Deanna immediately thought of Jacob, and she felt sick to her stomach. How could she have not seen what she was doing to him?
“Let me just cut to the chase.” She w
inced as she remembered Jacob’s harsh words from the night of the waleemah. “I’m not going to marry you as a second, third, or even fourth wife. And even if a sheikh were to give a fatwa that the women whom our right hands possess could be anyone we chose, I would never choose you.”
Fury rose in Deanna’s chest. But she fought it, refusing to let Jacob’s words offend her more than they already had.
I’m sorry I never gave you a family, Deanna read her words. You don’t know how much I wish I had one to give. We almost had one with Jacob, but I messed that up, and I’m working on getting it back. But Janice, I need you to know that my mother and father are not your family, and neither is Asher or Bailey. I used to think that the bonds of blood created unconditional love. But I realize now that the love that comes from family relations is merely a seed implanted in the heart of each person connected through blood. Just as with other seeds, there are some that lie in dry, untilled, unfertile land and ultimately wither away and die. That is the Michaels family, Janice. They never tilled or watered the soil. But the Bivens? Well, their seeds lie in moist, tilled, fertile land. That is why they are a family, and we’re not.
Deanna could feel her anger rising as she thought of Jacob divorcing her. “He should not have given up on me!” a voice cried in her mind.
Don’t expect people to never give up on you if you’ve already given up on yourself, the words she’d written seemed to speak to her right then.
“Why don’t you turn them into a book?” Jacob had asked when she told him about the letters she was going to write to herself. “It could be the beginning of restarting your counseling business. There are a lot of people who can relate to what you’ve gone through.”
In the quiet of the night, Deanna lifted her gaze to the balcony’s dark wood stairs that spiraled down to the grassy area enclosed by the fence that divided her parents’ property from the neighbors, and she thought of the day her mother had fallen. A sharp pain stabbed her chest as she recalled that she was at least partly at fault for what had happened.
