Bilal, a smiling and engaging young 15 year old son of a childhood friend, died on Sunday. He suffered from leukemia and was only a few weeks into chemotherapy when he succumbed to an infection that robbed us of all the incredible promise that was his future. Why?
To God we belong and to Him is our return. That’s what we believe as Muslims, and we say it aloud and to ourselves when we hear of the death of a fellow human being. Perhaps it’s meant to remind us of the bigger picture and maybe also to soothe some of the ache that comes with the parting from a loved one.
Honestly though, there are times, such as at the grave when Bilal’s coffin was taken from the hearse and his father lovingly and bravely (he sustained such composure throughout) supervised the passing of the casket in our hands - family, friends and anonymous community members - all the way to the grave site and then into the ground, when there is very little that can hold back a crushing sense of emptiness.
As I stood at the grave along with hundreds of others, and also many of Bilal’s high school classmates, my thoughts wandered to when his father, many of the other men present, and I, were Bilal’s age. Many of us have been friends for 20, 30 or more years. For us 15 was a crazy, fun, challenging age that we probably took for granted, just as we did 16, 17 and all the years through our 40s. But here we are and Bilal is gone. Nothing but the existence of a Merciful and Loving God to whom we must all one day return can make sense out of this randomness.
There is hope, though, for Bilal’s parents, for life without him in it. I wouldn’t know myself. But I see it being done and it is through the example of others that I draw hope for Bilal’s mother and father.
Two of the men I recognized at Bilal’s funeral are fathers who have buried their children. One is a member of my family and another is a dear friend. Perhaps these fathers and their wives can give Bilal’s mother and father courage through their own examples.
I hope so, because I myself have very little to offer my friend. There is prayer, of course. In fact, the way I see it, God is all that stands between Bilal’s parents and despair, so I’ve been praying - for Bilal and for his parents and for my own family as well.
I’ve found my prayers since learning of Bilal’s death have changed. On Sunday night, after learning that Bilal died earlier that afternoon, I helped my wife put our kids to bed, and then I stood in my bedroom for Isha (night prayers).
That night’s prayers were different. It took me longer to complete them. Partly it was because, standing in prayer, I sensed a very strong yearning for a spiritual connection. Even as my own children slept peacefully nearby, I could not help but put myself in my friend’s place. And standing in that painful place, even just imagined, I felt the dark, heavy wave of despair bearing down on top of me. And the fear that sensation evoked in me bowed my head like nothing else ever has.
As I placed my forehead to the ground I found myself staying in that prostrated position for seemingly long periods of time. In a position of complete submission to God I tried hard to sense His presence because I wanted Him to hear me. With my forehead to the ground I prayed. I prayed for Bilal. I prayed for his mother and father and for his siblings. And I spent quite a bit of time praying for my own children.
In my life I’ve seen the pain of parents watching their new born baby die. I’ve seen the pain of parents who loved and cared for daughters over 10 and 12 years as they suffered painful, debilitating diseases and then saw their daughters die of these incurable ailments. And now I’ve seen the pain suffered by parents who lost their boy suddenly and with almost no warning.
I believe that this is God’s Will. But I believe also that all that happens in the circle of this life is interconnected somehow. Today I’m reminded to cherish each day and to thank God for every blessing no matter how small because, as I’ve seen this day, the most precious things in our lives can be taken from us and we are powerless to do anything about it.
Bilal’s death shall not be in vain. Nor shall the deaths of the other children whose lives have touched mine. With God’s Help I will try to find the lessons He intended for me to learn. Through one another’s lives and experiences, I believe, God intends for us to better ourselves and the world in which we live. God-willing, I will try to find some meaning in today’s painful experiences.
God Bless Bilal, his mother, his father, his siblings and his entire family. You are all in my prayers.
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UPDATE: 2/17/11
This is from one of Bilal's relatives:
As we were embarking on a national bone marrow match campaign, Bilal himself was the strongest supporter of helping others in addition to him, so we are going to continue that effort and make sure that we honor Bilal and help others by getting people into the registry. We don't want to wait for this to happen to someone else we know. Let's save lives proactively.
Here's how to connect with various drives being planned:
Also, please read this story in the Chicago Tribune about Bilal and the inspiration he's been to help others.
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