Merriam places the journal and her pocket-sized Qur'an on the desk next to her dog-earred lesson plan notebook. It's become a new ritual to be able to see them while she's working. The journal was a gift from coworkers. On it is a photo of her father embracing her on her 23rd birthday.
The students can tell something is different. She's smiling, but they can see that she's holding back tears.
"Today's lesson will be about communication, appreciation and grief. We will learn new vocabulary to show people that we love them. How do we do that? What do we do to show people that we love them?"
Emine raises her hand, " Make eye contact."
Yusuf raises his hand, " Give gifts."
Furkan raises his hand, " Say I love you?"
The class laughs at the straightforward answer.
" Absolutely. It might seem funny because it is obvious. However, to be honest, we can never say those words enough. Today we will explore the words : communication, gratitude, to prioritize, sincerity, fondness, warmth, joy, to give condolences, grief, to console, to cope and to heal."
Her voice was noticeably shaky at "condolences" and she fought back tears. But she seemed to find her strength with the word "heal".
After they had taken notes on the presentation, she gave them an assignment.
"I want you to use your new vocabulary and the ideas we discussed today to write a letter of appreciation to someone you love."
She walked around the room helping students with grammar and word choices. She prayed that what they had covered today in class would stay with them for the rest of their lives.
As many times in her life, she was taken aback when she witnessed her prayers answered.
One student had written," Ms. Merriam, I appreciate you because you teach us everything. You teach us how to survive in this life."
It was humbling. He had chosen to write to her out of anyone he loved and it was such a powerful statement to make. She needed that reminder that what she was doing mattered, especially now. She thanked him for the letter and silently thanked Allah for such a beautiful experience.
After the lesson finished, she sat in the teacher's room. She read Surah 94. She loved the repetition of the line "Verily with hardship comes relief. Verily with hardship comes relief." It felt like a consoling hug to know that Allah would help her though this time. That He knew she needed that reassurance. And then the final lines, "When your work is done, turn to your Lord for devotion. Turn to your Lord for everything." She let the words whirl around in her mind. Chanting them silently.
Her eyes caught sight of the journal and she studied the photo again. Her father's tan skin contrasted her pale Irish skin. She had gotten her mother's complexion, as well as her light eyes and hair. But she smiled looking at the Jewish nose. She had her father's nose and she could see a likeness in facial expressions and gestures. One of his arms was curled around her waist in a sweet embrace and the other arm was positioned with his hand cradling her head against his cheek. He had a smile of contentment and it shone in his deep brown eyes. She loved that photo. It brought her joy. And yet there was pain knowing that she wouldn't hug him again... in this life anyway.
It had been four years since she had last hugged him goodbye at the airport in New York. Four years of constant videocalls. Their relationship had matured in innovative ways by deep conversations on camera each week. She had devoted her time to sharing her love and faith with him. She knew her last words to him had been, "Did I mention that I love you?" And he had echoed that response.
She thought about the time they had went to see Al Pacino in Shakespeare in the Park. It was a tradition to arrive in Central Park at 4:30 in the morning and to wait until 3pm to get free tickets only to return to Delacorte Theater that same evening at 7 pm for the performance. The line at Central Park proved plenty of people thought the tradition was worth it. That time they had come prepared. They had sat in their folded chairs with umbrellas open to ward off the heavy downfall. She had a job that summer working with autistic people for a non-profit organization. Only days before she met Bianca, a beautiful eighteen-year-old deaf woman and the two had conversed over notes and games of hangman. It had inspired Merriam to study the alphabet in sign language. While sitting in the rain, her dad had joined her in practicing signs. Nearby, a woman smiled at them and politely corrected her G sign. It felt like they had entered a secret club, a beautiful one. But what happened that evening had been the most surprising thing. At the performance of The Merchant of Venice, seated next to them, was a young deaf woman and her interpreter. Merriam did not believe in coincidences, even her cat was named Kismet (Destiny in Turkish). She knew that things happened as part of a greater plan.
She began to ponder what a beautiful profession being an interpreter was. Interpreters bridge gaps between people and knowledge. They make things accessible. How much of her life was interpreting signs, texts, situations? She knew some books could change your life. It had been six years since she had fallen in love with the Qu'ran.It had been six years since she had taken her Shahada. She knew Allah had guided her to the path of Islam. She knew that losing her father was also a test of faith. She flipped through her Qur'an to an ayat. "And We will surely test you with something of fear and hunger and a loss of wealth and lives and fruits, but give good tidings to the patient, Who, when disaster strikes them, say, "Indeed we belong to Allah , and indeed to Him we will return." But to have faith, prayer and the Qur'an is as if the teacher is holding your hand and whispering encouragement even when the test seems impossible.
She had wished for something. Something she thought to be impossible. Her father was dead. But she longed to hear his voice again. She didn't dare ask for such a thing in prayer. It would be absurd. All the same, Allah had given it to her. While going through old messages, she found a three-year-old video of her father serenading her to happy birthday. In the video, he praised her as "the world's most wonderful daughter." It was so sweet to hear him singing and to see him animated even in a thirty second clip. She thought about the Qur'an again."If you are grateful, I will give you more." What a benevolent Creator He is. How many times had he answered her prayers and blessed her? Yet He still would continue giving.
"Even this body will return to Allah. It is not mine," she thought. "So, too, was my father. And all those that I love. I must understand that all things shall taste death. But this is not the end. It is of consequence. What we do here matters. But the next life is where we will witness eternity."
She gently moved her journal and her Qur'an into her bag, packed the rest of her belongings and began the journey home. She was grateful for a loving husband and a cat that she could return to at the end of the day. Alhamdulillah.
