Eighteen-year-old Hayat Amanullah has it all: a loving family, a carefree life, and a future at the Ivy League school of her dreams. But her perfect life shatters when her oldest brother suddenly dies in a car accident. The tight-knit Amanullah fami...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
~ Lavender: Peace ~
We trudge across the frozen grass, my parents holding hands and Ihsaan holding one of Aneela's hands and one of mine.
There has always been a strange, unexpected sort of peace every time we visit the graveyard. This is one of the largest Muslim graveyards in the tristate area, and it's surrounded by trees on all sides. Bare branches are coated with snow, occasionally sprinkling to the ground when a light breeze drifts across the graveyard. Visitors all share brief greetings and sad smiles as we pass by one another.
In summer it was even more peaceful. Ducks roamed around, waddling away every time we got too close. The scent of fresh flowers was constantly drifting through our noses. The trees swayed in tune with the breeze as our clothes rippled around us. If you needed water to pour over the grass on the graves, you would dash to the little cabin nearby and fill it with hose water. If you needed a chair to sit on, you could grab any of the ones nearby. If you wanted to sprinkle Zamzam over the graves, families would leave bottles of it near their loved one's graves.
There's a sad but comforting communion amongst all the visitors.
The graveyard is like a strange, melancholy garden. Only alongside planting flowers, we plant tears and memories in the mud as well.
I'm carrying a bouquet of peonies, Arafat's favorite flowers and symbolic for healing. Once we arrive at his grave, I grab two chairs from nearby and gesture for my parents to sit.
I take a deep breath, removing the peonies from the bouquet and sticking them into the mud atop the grave. I brush the snow off the gravestone and rest my hand against it.
Our beloved Arafat Amanullah Loving son and brother. Always remembered, always in our hearts. "Every soul will taste death." (Qur'an 3:185) DOB: 4/7/1999. DOD: 6/3/2024
Every time I visited the graveyard after Arafat's death, tears pooled rapidly upon immediate entry. But today feels strange. Today I feel almost at...peace as I rub my hand comfortingly along the gravestone.
Aneela joins me, resting one hand next to mine and squeezing the other around my arm reassuringly.
Or perhaps she needs comfort as well.
We all hold our hands up in du'aa, our combined voices a warm thrum in the bitter January cold.
Once we're done, I settle down on the ground, ignoring the sludge of snow and mud. Ihsaan and Aneela join me as our parents sit on chairs behind us.
Tomorrow I'm leaving for Princeton University. The semester starts in a couple days and move in week begins tomorrow. My belongings are all packed and ready at home, and I'm a bundle of nerves.
