The first time I lost someone was when I was 12 years old. He was my dad’s close friend and the father of one of my friends. I saw this family’s life change before my eyes within just a few months. A home once lively, hosting dinner parties, became cold and quiet. Plans to perform Hajj that year with us were cancelled. Their entire world turned upside down.
I remember the routine hospital visits, and my friend having to sleep over at our house and go to school with me. She didn’t really talk much about her dad; I knew it was a touchy subject.
One day, I woke up for school and couldn’t find my parents at home. My sister told me that my friend’s dad had passed away, and my dad had received a phone call at Fajr time. I didn’t really process what she said, and I didn’t know how to react, so I did what any 12-year-old would do—I went to school.
The minute my teacher saw me that morning, she could tell something was off. She called me over and asked what was wrong. That was when I started bawling and told her what had happened. It was like a waterfall waiting to gush. She comforted me and sent me to the guidance counsellor, who phoned my parents to pick me up.
My parents were surprised that I had gone to school. That day, they spoke to me for the first time about loss. Later, we attended the Janazah at the masjid, and I was astonished at how composed everyone was. I remember his wife thanking my mother for what we had done for their family, which didn’t seem like much at all.
We went to the home to pay our respects and condolences. A number of ladies had gathered there. My friend’s mom opened the door with a meek smile. I went upstairs to see how my friend was doing. I don’t remember any tears or talk about what had happened. I just remember how incredibly terrible I felt for her.
I felt like that for a long time. Because from then on, she was known as someone who had lost her dad at such a young age. As the years went on, we heard updates from the family: Aunty got a job, a tenant moved in downstairs, their house was sold, their son got married, and my friend went to school and eventually married as well. Babies were added to the family, new homes were built. Life moved forward despite the struggle, pain, and hardship endured. But at every happy memory or gathering, their lost loved one was never forgotten. That grief was never unnoticed.
That was my first experience with death, and it quietly shaped the way I would come to understand grief in the years that followed. As I grew older, I met more orphans, widows, and widowers. People who had lost children, or multiple family members. I witnessed more tragedies, which made me realize that life is always full of heartbreak and loss. Grief is a testament and proof of love. If we didn’t love, we would never grieve. Yet love is still a worthwhile endeavour because of the joy it brings us. Therefore, the longer we live, the more we have to lose.
The Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) and Grief
Who better to teach us about grief than our beloved Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him), who lost his father before even meeting him, his mother as a child, followed by his grandfather, uncle, wife, and all of his children except for one?
Who knew this human pain more than our beloved Prophet (pbuh)? He wept and remembered his beloved ones. Yet, just like so many of us, he moved forward with trust and reliance upon Allah, with the expectation of reuniting with his loved ones in a home far more lasting and permanent than this one.
We learn from his example when the Prophet (pbuh) lost his beloved child Ibraheem and was found crying:
Anas ibn Malik narrated that Abdur Rahman bin Auf said, “O Allah’s Apostle, even you are weeping!” He said (pbuh) said, “O Ibn Auf, this is mercy.” Then he wept more and said, “The eyes are shedding tears and the heart is grieved, and we will not say except what pleases our Lord. O Ibrahim! Indeed, we are grieved by your separation.” (Bukhari)
The Year of Sorrow
Grief was so present in the Prophet’s (pbuh) life that there was an entire year called The Year of Sorrow, marked by the deaths of his wife Khadija and his uncle, Abu Talib. During this time, Allah (SWT) revealed Surah Ad-Duha—a chapter in the Qur’an primarily addressing the Prophet (pbuh) during his sorrow, but bringing comfort to anyone going through loss, an emotion universal to us all:
By the morning brightness. And [by] the night when it covers with darkness. Your Lord has not taken leave of you, [O Muhammad], nor has He detested [you]. And the Hereafter is better for you than the first [life]. And your Lord is going to give you, and you will be satisfied. Did He not find you an orphan and give [you] refuge? And He found you lost and guided [you], And He found you poor and made [you] self-sufficient. So as for the orphan, do not oppress [him]. And as for the petitioner, do not repel [him]. But as for the favor of your Lord, report [it]. (Surah Ad-Duha: 1–11)
In this Surah, Allah addresses the Prophet’s (pbuh) grief by reminding him of the blessings in his life and of the times when he had previously been in hardship and received divine support. Allah promises him that what is coming in the future is far better than what has passed, and that the Prophet (pbuh) will be satisfied, both in this life and the next.
This is something we can all learn from when going through loss. Often, grief feels like it will never end, that things will never get better or be like they once were.
Through the Prophet’s (pbuh) life, we learn that with grief and loss, life can begin to find light again—eventually. Even with tragedy, there is still joy to experience, hope to hold, and purpose to live by. There are people to help, goals to achieve, and meaning to carry out. The pain will always remain, but with time, it becomes dimmer. Grief changes us; it reshapes our identity and the way we choose to live our lives.
Grief is a Testament of Love
Our precious loved ones will always remain special. Their memory forever imprinted on our hearts. We will all go through the waves of grief, even at the most unexpected times. This was evident when the Prophet (pbuh) came across his late wife Khadija’s necklace and became emotional at its sight. It was also evident in how fondly he spoke of her after her passing.
Aisha (RA) reported that the Prophet (pbuh) said regarding his late wife Khadija:
“Never did I feel jealous of the wives of Allah’s Apostle (ﷺ) but in the case of Khadija, although I did not [have the privilege to] see her. Whenever Allah’s Messenger (ﷺ) slaughtered a sheep, he said: ‘Send it to the companions of Khadija.’ I annoyed him one day and said: ‘It is Khadija only who always prevails upon your mind.’ Thereupon Allah’s Messenger (ﷺ) said: ‘Her love had been nurtured in my heart by Allah Himself.’” (Muslim)
The Prophet (pbuh) honoured his feelings for his loved ones who had passed away. Therefore, let yourself feel the waves of grief when they come. Listen to your body when it reacts. Validate those emotions. Spend time with them. Take it one day at a time. Remember those you’ve lost and honour the love they brought into your life. Grief is only a testament to love.
May Allah grant us patience in our grief, fill our hearts with hope, and reunite us with our loved ones in Jannah, where loss will no longer exist.