It has been slightly more than a week since Dadima passed away. 1 week and four days to be exact. I thought it would become easier to get on with life as the days went by, but that is absolutely not true. I still miss Dadima terribly.

I have tried to keep my emotions in check and put on a brave face. Over the last few days I have generally succeeded but have failed at certain times.

On Lailatul-Qadr, the most important night of the year where we stay up for the whole night for prayers and don't sleep again till the sun rises, we usually ask for remembrance in prayers from the elders in the family. Every year, we would ask Dadima first. Last Sunday night was Lailatul Qadr, around 4 days after Dadima's death and i couldn't help but missing her.

A few days ago, after having a early breakfast (to observe a fast the next day), I went back to sleep and could have sworn that I dreamt of Dadima. She wasn't the thin and frail person that she had become over the last few months. She was the strong woman I had known for most of my life till now. It was so real; she was walking towards me. And then I remember waking up suddenly and coming to my senses a few seconds later to realise that she was gone. The feeling was horrible. I felt my loss all over again.

Then today I came back from photocopying some readings at the NUS Central Library to find that dad and Asma feiji (My aunt who is my dad's sister) were going through Dadima's things. I just sat in Dadima's bedroom with them we shared memories with each other. Then Feiji left and I got ready to go to Masjid for prayers. After getting ready I went into Dadima's room to get something I left behind and I saw that they had left Dadima's masallo (prayer mat) on Dadima's bed. They must have forgotten to put it back. The thing is, that whenever Dadima got ready to say her prayers, she would put her masallo on her bed in the very same way and then go to the bathroom to do vuzu (washing oneself before paryers). Again, I slipped into thinking that Dadima was still around and she's coming back to spread her masallo. Then I realised it was not true and I started crying. All over again, I felt the sense of loss.

I usually walk all over the house when I am thinking about something such as a paper I'm wiriting or an idea that has just come into my head. The last few days, I have found myself more and more ending up in Dadima's bedroom. I don't know why. Is it in some subconscious hope that I would find Dadima sitting there? Am I still in denial?

I just can't help thinking about whether or not I had done enough for her in her final few days. I don't know why I had gone for that conference. If I hadn't, I would have been with her in her final days. I am just so thankful to Allah that he granted me the opportunity to be there on the day she passed away and help her in her final journey. I just wished I had seen her one last time before she had passed away. Just to see her smile. Just to hear her say "Maro Hozefa aayo che" (My Hozefa has come). Just to have covered her in her blanket one more time. Just to have her ask me to pray a marsiya (hymn) one more time for her. Just to have said goodbye.

Eid-ul-fitr is coming in a few days. But nobody in the family is going to be in any mood to celebrate.

I am thankful that so many of my friends and even some of my cadets have shown me so much support over the past few days. Thanks guys.

I've not updated my blog in a long time. So many things have happened in the past few months. Some were great experiences and other were challenges to be overcome. Yet, nothing impacted me as much as what happened 2 days ago.

I had just returned from an overseas trip to a conference in Bangkok on Tuesday night. On Wednesday morning at around 7am, dad got a call from the hospital saying that Dadima (grandmother) was in a very critical condition and that they should come over immediately. Dad asked Qadir and me to stay behind. As I was still recovering from lack of sleep, Qadir offered to stay by the phone. Then around 20 minutes later, Qadir came and shook me rather hard and told me we had to get ready quickly and go. I just put on whatever clothes I could find and called a cab to bring us to Tan Tock Seng Hospital. I remember telling the driver to drive as fast as possible and he said he'll do his best. On the way there, dad called Qadir on his handphone.

It was the news that we dreaded. We knew it was coming because Dadima's condition was deterioating so much. But nothing prepared me for the moment when Qadir told me that "She passed away". When we reached the hospital, we rushed to her bedside. I remember that Dad was praying from the Quran loudly and then did matam of Imam husain on Dadima's chest. She was just lying there. She finally had the look of peace on her face.

I just started crying. The immense sense of loss I felt at that very moment in time was indescribable. I simply didn't know what to do. Mum was standing there so I hugged her. I kissed Dadima's feet one last time, as I usually kissed them every Eid and Lailatul Qadr. I held Dadima's hand and just cried. Then I remember kissing her forehead. Now as I type this I realise that it was the very last time I got to touch her, the loving Dadima that never hesitated to give me a hug to bring me close to her when I was in pain.

Husain Kakji told me to be strong, because we had to make preparations for her final journey to her maker. I just remeber huggin Husain Kakji and Feiji. And I remember after that I hugged dad and both of us couldn't stop crying.

Eventually we quickly discussed what we had to do. Dad and kakaji would stay at the hospital to finish the paperwork and arrange for Dadima to be brought to masjid. Mum, Qadir and me went home to change, get the Khake Shifaa, the white cloth for kafan that was blessed by Aqa Moula (TUS), and water from the wells of Zam Zam in Mecca and Jame-ul-Anwar in Qahera.

Everything after that was a blur. I remember reaching masjid and making arrangements with Abbas uncle and Qadir and I went with Najmi uncle to buy packet drinks for all those who will attend the burial. Dadima's body was brought to the masjid and the women in the committee started the process of cleaning her and garbing her in the burial robes. We just waited outside.

Then all the family members were asked to go in to look upon Dadima's face one last time before it was covered with Hanoot and the cloth. When it was my turn, I was careful not to touch her (She was cleaned with the rites of abulation so we should not touch her). I leaned forward to her face and all I could think of saying was Thank you. All I thought of saying was thank you to this wonderful grandmother who had led such a hard life but was only full of love for all of us. I also remembered saying that Aqa Moula will take care of you now. And that she had gotten her final wish of doing Didar of Aqa Moula.

And I lost my composure after that again. When I came back to my senses, it was time to carry her body into the Masjid for the Janazah ni namaaz. I made sure I didn't let go of the coffin used to carry her at all. I wanted to be there with Dadima all throughout her final journey. We prayed the namaaz and everyone came to give us Taziat (condolences). I just couldn't stop silently crying. After everyone had given taziat, I went to give taziat to my dad ad we hugged each other and cried again. Our sense of loss was at that time insurmountable.

We carried her body for the final journey out of the house of Allah and brought the coffin into the funeral bus that was waiting outside. While dad and Qadir took the car to the cemetary, I went in the bus and sat by the coffin throughout the whole journey. I couldn't stop thinking about her.

Finally, we reached the cemetary and dad and kakji went into the grave to receive the body and I helped lower Dadima into her final resting place. I saw as the knots on her robes were loosened, signifying that all her wordly worries are over and now Moulana Ali Mushkil Kusha will come to bring her to Jannat. Her face was unveiled and her body covered with soil. After which we said our final goodbyes and prayers and went back home where everyone had gathered. We tried to console each other but with very little effect.

Later that night we went to Masjid and came back home. I went to Dadima's bedroom and sat at the foot of her bed and started crying again. There was an emptiness in me that couldn't be filled. It seemed so surreal. It was as if Dadima had just gone away for a while and would come back again. But I knew that it wasn't true. She had gone into the loving embrace of Imam-uz-zaman. I started wondering if I had been in turn, a filial grandson to Dadima. Dad and mum had to console me this time.

Dadima, thank you for everything. You were the kind of grandmother every grandson could ask for. You showed us love in all the ways that you knew how. You cared for us the way mothers care for their children. You taught us the tenets of our faith and made sure we stick firm in our love for Aqa Moula. You constantly reminded us of our family's traditions of Khidmat-e-dawat and ensured that we carried on this tradition. You loved us so so much dadima.

And dadima, we loved you too. We still love you. And we'll love you forever. We miss you so so much. Tha gap that you have left can never be filled.

May you receive Moula's Shafaat.

I am sure that when Penjeten Pak came to receive you, when Aqa Moula came to hold your hand, that they were proud that such a fine Mumin had finally come to Jannat. I Know that you're in a happier place now that you're suffering is now over. Please continue to watch over us, Dadima, as you did in your life.

We will love you, always.