It will be Ramadhan soon inshaa Allah. This blessed month means a great deal to me and to every other Muslim – it is a month unlike any other. It is a time that is solely for `ibadah and for good deeds.

Ramadhan is also the month in which my father passed away. I still remember every detail of his final days and I remember spending my first `Eid without him.

You never forget the important people in your life… and you never stop loving them. My father was a devoted father and husband, always putting the family first. I used to tell him that he fussed too much, worried too much about us. I felt he needed to let go and not fret because we could take care of ourselves, but I suppose he was just that kind of man.

When I was growing up, he pushed my siblings and I to work hard at school, sparing no expense and effort. He would take us wherever we had to be – tuition, extra-curricular activities – no matter how busy or tired he was. When I started working, he would always drive me to the office. I often felt bad about this, but my father would not have it any other way.

The only time I was completely on my own was when I moved to the US after being married in 2000. It was tough because my dad had been diagnosed with cancer just before the wedding. I stayed there a year and gave birth to my daughter in September 2001 in Wisconsin. My father was beside himself – when my husband called him to tell him the good news, he could hardly contain his delight. It took three months before my husband was able to get a job transfer and we were able to return to Singapore.

I still remember the day we arrived – it was about 1 a.m. that January day when we reached my parents’ house. I saw as we pulled up the drive way that the porch and living room lights were on. The front door was open and my father was standing there, leaning on his cane. I rushed out of the car and took baby Marz to him.

He just smiled and truly, I had never seen my father so happy. He just stared at his first grand-daughter and positively beamed, eyes crinkled up with so much joy. He could hardly speak. He later told me that he was so overwhelmed with gratitude, for Allah had answered his prayers – for he had beseeched Him countless times to bring us back home. It wasn’t easy returning to Singapore, but seeing my father’s boundless joy, I knew it was more than worth it.

My father died less than a year later … to this day I thank Allah for giving us the means to return before it was too late. To this day, I thank Allah for giving me Marz because I think she was my one and only real gift to my father.

During that time, we would visit my parents often – he loved Marz’s company. Marz and I would spend afternoons at their place and my husband would drop by after work. We would have dinner and then go back to our place just after Isha prayers. He always insisted on driving us home – he would do this even when his body ached from the effects of the chemotherapy. He would drop us off at our block and we would wave at him as he pulled out of the parking lot before we made our way to our apartment.

My father had to go back and forth to the hospital over the year, but always returned home looking well on the road to recovery. Some of his friends used to jokingly remark, “Are you really sick? This is not the face of a sick man!” He always managed to look well … my aunt told me Marz had given him a new lease of life, a reason to fight.

Our routine and hospital visits went on for several months until my father took a turn for the worse in October 2002. This time, Allah decreed that his admission to the hospital would be his last. He had had a third cycle of chemotherapy and a second bone marrow transplant, but every effort the doctors made led to more complications. His kidneys began to fail and then his heart weakened so badly that he could hardly breathe without his body heaving painfully. His body could no longer take the beating of the illness and the drugs.

Word got round and friends and relatives rushed to see him. They had all just seen him a month earlier and were shocked and shaken to see how his condition had deteriorated. Many – grown men even – burst into tears upon seeing him. One said, “He was FINE last month! What have they done to him?”

One Friday in Ramadhan, the doctors told us that my father’s heart was just not doing its job. He was not getting enough oxygen and he needed to be put on a life support machine. They tried to be as kind as they could, but we were really grasping at straws. Without the machine, he would surely die and with it, he had but a five percent chance of survival. We did what we thought he would have wanted – we went with the machine. Five percent was better than nothing.

We were all given a few minutes with him before they sedated him. Deep down inside, we must all have known that this was going to be the last time we would see him conscious. We asked the doctors to allow us to bring Marz in to see him – children below 10 are not allowed into the Intensive Care Unit and she was barely over a year old.

We all stood around my father giving him words of comfort and encouragement, telling him not to be afraid… telling him all would be well. We brought Marz in to see him and they held hands for the last time.

Then we had to go.

Saturday came and he showed no signs of improvement. After iftar, at my mother’s house, my husband, brother and sister went back to the hospital. I had to go home to the flat to put Marz to bed.

I had just finished giving her her bath when I received a call. My cousin told me that I had to be by my father… he was slipping. I dropped my daughter off at my mother’s house where my mum’s helper would watch her and, dry-eyed and feeling completely numb, made my way to the ICU.

I entered his room and saw a crowd of family and friends. When I went into my father’s room, I saw my sister, eyes red, sobbing uncontrollably as she tried to read from the Qur’an. My mother, calm and composed told me to read and to say shahadah in my father’s ear.

The minutes passed and I saw from the machine that my father’s heartbeat was decreasing, slowly but surely. I stepped back and looked at the people in the room – aunts, uncles, cousins and a few close friends, faces taut with grief.

Then I caught sight of a brother, Muhammad, whom my father cared about a great deal. When his first child was born, his wife had experienced complications and it was my mum adn dad who cared for little Aishah in her early days. It seemed as though Muhammad wanted to go to my father, but could not as my aunts were close by. I gestured briefly at him and he nodded. I told my aunts to make way and then he took his place by my father.

He bent down and said the shahadah several times and then raised his voice, reciting Ayat ul Kursi. I remember thinking at that moment, “It sounds so melodic. It is as if he is lulling Abah to sleep.” Brother Muhammad repeated the shahadah and then stepped back. It felt strangely calm.

I looked at the machine and I saw my father’s heartbeat falling, this time drastically… 48, 34, 28, 20…

I felt everyone stiffening. The air was thick with tension. I heard my sister catching her breath.

Then the line went flat. My father had passed away.

It took a while for it to sink in.

I remember thanking Muhammad.

I remember my mother briskly tell the my husband and brother to take over the arrangements with the hospital… she had to get home as her iddah had begun.

I remember her telling all the ladies to make their way back to our house to prepare for the funeral the next morning.

I remember asking her who would stay by Abah.

I remember her saying that Abah was gone and that his body was not him. It was just his body, a shell.

I remember not shedding any tears.

Later that night, I gave up trying to spend the night at my mum’s. Marz could not sleep – she wanted only her crib so I had to go back to my flat. My uncle took my dad’s car and drove us home. It was a quiet journey… what was there to say at a time like this?

Then we arrived at my block and said salaam. I got out of the car and stood by the car park, just as I used to when my father drove us home. As my uncle pulled away, he turned to us.

I waved at him and he waved back.

My heart went cold as the hurt came rushing in. It was then that it really hit me.

My father was never coming back.

Everyone is afflicted with tests at some point or another. Life goes on of course, but it is not quite the same when you have lost someone you love. There is the grief you do your best to keep locked away and there is the void that the memories don’t quite fill. Still, we all have to push along…

You may find that I talk an awful lot about my father… Well, truth be told, I think about him and miss him a great deal. He was a very good man, who loved his family and friends well, mashaa Allah.

Today, I remembered something that my mother told me about my father and it made me smile. So bear with me while I take you on another ‘ramble’. :)

Islam places a great emphasis on good character. We are commanded to be honest in all our dealings and to be trustworthy as well. We are forbidden to consume wealth by means of falsehood and injustice and we must never ever get involved in haraam transactions like bribery, stealing and so on.

“And eat up not one another’s property unjustly (in any illegal way, e.g. stealing, robbing, deceiving), nor give bribery to the rulers…” [al-Baqarah 2:188]

My father ma shaa Allah was a man who believed in good old-fashioned solid values. He was principled and believed in doing his best in everything he pursued. He pushed us as children to do well in school and did everything he could to help us – he spent his Saturday afternoons watching us while we had swimming lessons, ferried us for Math tuition twice a week, paid for any books and study materials we wanted and encouraged us with pep talks every chance he got.

Once we started working, he often fussed at us about good work ethics. Whenever I was late for work, he could hardly contain his anxiety and disapproval. He saw work as a trust and often told me, “How would you feel if your employers were to cut your pay by $5 every month? You wouldn’t like it would you? Now tell me, is it fair that you’re always late for work?”

My father started his career in the Ministry of Environment as a Public Health Inspector He would conduct checks that companies, especially hotels, restaurants and coffee shops maintained hygiene standards. He worked his way up and eventually held the post of Assistant Commissioner of Public Health.

The food industry is a competitive one here, so many of these business owners feared the repercussions of a bad report. Failure to maintain standards would result in warnings, fines and suspension of business. Back in the day, some tried to bribe my dad – subtly or directly. They offered cash, expensive wines and cognacs and even women!

My father, however, was scrupulous to a fault and always refused. :) Sometimes hotel managers would invite him to a meal before the inspections, but he only accepted a glass of water. One particular restauranteur offered my father a pack of cigarette. My father refused, saying he did not smoke. The man kept urging him and practically pressed the box into his hand. When my father continued to insist that he did not smoke, the man leaned closer to him and hissed under his breath, “It’s not cigarettes that are in the box!” Allah knows best how many bills he placed in the box – my father never found out.

My father always said that a moment’s indiscretion and greed could destroy a man and his family, so he never accepted nor gave any bribes. It was never worth it.

Singapore has very strict laws – some would say draconian. The government takes a very harsh stance against corruption – any government officer found guilty would be immediately sacked and lose his pension.

One day, the Corrupt Practices Investigation Bureau called my father in for an ‘interview’. He was naturally alarmed for he had no idea what the matter was. He knew that he had always been above board but wondered if someone had incriminated him out of spite.

He turned up at their headquarters sick with worry and there, they told him that they had been watching him round the clock for close to 4 months. FOUR MONTHS, subHanAllah! They had tailed him EVERYWHERE HE WENT, TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY!

When my father asked why, they said they had received a tip-off that my father had had a stake in a bakery that was located close to our home and that he was receiving bribes and favours from the owner. Alhamdulillah, my father could say with a clear conscience that the owners of the bakery were indeed close family friends, but that that was all they were. I can only imagine the fear my father felt – he was close to retirement and the risk of losing everything he had worked for was very real.

It was huge relief when they told him not to worry – they said that they had no evidence of any wrongdoing on his part! In fact, the officers who tailed him often complained to their superiors – they said that it was supremely BORING tailing my father. All he ever did was go to work, do his prayers and take classes at the masjid and stay home with his family.

Their only concern was that there was one day when records showed that my father had left the office for a few hours. This was easily explained – my father clarified that a Muslim friend of his had passed away. Since Muslims bury their dead without delay, he had to leave immediately for the prayers and funeral.

Anyway, the CPIB found NO DIRT on him – my father was THAT trustworthy, mashaa Allah.

This story never fails to make me smile. As a child and a teen, I DID used to think that my father was boring. I’d often wished that he could be a bit of a rebel who let loose sometimes. Now though, when I remember, I think, it wasn’t a bad thing at all…