The clock struck 4 in the morning and I couldn’t go back to sleep. My mind kept racing and I have been having a uncomfortable stomachache. Must have been what I ate for dinner. I decided to pull myself up and onto my wheelchair. I roll the chair towards the toilet. My pale hands trembling as I reach to turn the faucet and slowly getting accustom to the coldness of the water. I performed my ablutions and have freshened myself up.
It has been weeks since I have come back to my house. Until recently, I would stay at my daughter’s house in case I had one of my hospital appointments. Getting old does that to you. You develop a million and one diseases that you would only hear about and thought would never happen to you. I get tired so easily nowadays. I can’t even go out and water my flowers. My beautiful flowers that I planted and care for. Now I’m stuck in this wheelchair, unable to move as much as I wanted. Osteoporosis does that to you, I guess. Everything is fine though. My children try and be there, but they just don’t understand. They take very good care of me since my husband died but it is me who is supposed to take care of them. I’m their mother.
As I sit there on my prayer mat, I pray to God for the wellness of everyone I know and to ease my pain if I were to leave one day. There’s a lot of things I pray for nowadays. So much is going on in the world and all I can do is depend on God’s mercy.
The sun rises and shine into my living room. I roll my wheelchair to the front door; I peer to look upon the outside world. How long has it been since I went out and enjoyed my own beautiful garden? I live alone now, and I prefer it this way. This house is my home. My children have always asked me to live with them, but no other place can be home except this house.
I turn on the TV and start going through channels. Suddenly, my phone rings. I look upon it and smile. I press the green button on screen and raise it to my ear. I say hello but I can’t seem to hear anyone on the other line. The phone keeps ringing. I look again at the screen and make sure I press the green button properly. These new phones are really confusing to me. I hear my daughter’s voice over the phone. I ask how she’s doing and what is she eating for lunch. She then tells me that the government has made a restriction order. No one is allowed to go out of their homes. I can hear the anxiousness in her voice. I know she’s worried about me staying home alone but I’ll be fine, I think. I just don’t want her to worry.
I start calculating the food I have left. Maybe I should ask help from Makcik Midah to buy me some to last me a week or two. As far as I’m concerned, it will only last for two weeks, right? I’m no stranger from staying at home but I am afraid of not being able to see my children anytime soon. Please God, protect us all from this virus.
For these past two weeks, I have been calling all my children every day, asking how they were doing. Some were still having meetings at home, some were busy with trying new recipes to cook for their children, and some were missing the outside world. I called my grandchildren too in case they were able to go home from studying away. Thankfully everyone is together at home. Except for me. But it’s fine, it is just for another two weeks, right?
I start counting days to Ramadhan. The most wonderful month where everyone can come together and spend it together. Maybe my children can come here and spend their Ramadhan here, with me after this quarantine is over. I start planning the menus I can cook for them when they reach here. They have always loved my cooking. I should probably make everyone’s favorites. It shouldn’t be that hard to find the supplies. I open my fridge and I see that everything is nearly finished. A sudden surge of fear surrounded me. I can heat yesterday’s dinner up, to eat for lunch. But what will I eat for dinner? Oh God, please allow me to have enough food to last this quarantine.
The house bell rings and the food delivery my daughter has bought for me arrived. Thank you, God. All these new delivery systems are really helpful. Just the other day, my daughter suggested that she’d buy my kitchen supplies and have them delivered. I did not know there were such a thing. Maybe it would be for the best. It would really help the community in these times of crisis. May God bless these people who are out there helping everyone out.
The worst of the worst could have happened. My dream of celebrating Eid with my children are fleeting away. The Prime Minister has extended the movement order. My heart sank. I did not think that this year I would be celebrating Eid on my own. Was last year, the last time I was going to celebrate Eid with my family? Will I ever get a chance to celebrate with them next year? Everything is so overwhelming. What am I able to do? Will I ever get the chance to enjoy breaking fast with my children again? Will I get another chance of overlooking my children banter over making food? Will my house ever be filled with the laughter of my grandchildren? Will I ever get to celebrate with my first great-grandchild’s first Eid? Will I ever get to perform tarawih with my family again? All these questions scrambling in my head and I start to cry. What else will this virus take away from me? It took away my freedom and now it is as if it is taking away my family.
Holding onto my wheelchair, I try to pull myself up. For the first time, I want to try and perform my prayers like I used to. I want to do it standing up. Maybe God is doing this to me because I have taken advantage of the ease, He has given to me. I push my body upwards, trembling trying to stay up. I stand there, on my prayer mat facing Kaabah. I surrender myself to God. I’m in pain but being away from my family is more painful. Who knows how much time I have left but maybe this is the least I can do. As I raise my hand to takbir, I start falling. My knee are giving away and can’t hold me up anymore. I land on the wheelchair and start sobbing. I feel so helpless, powerless and weak. I miss my family. I want to be with them. I wish they were here with me. I wish I was with them; I don’t care about the risks. I want to be with them.
I pull myself together and wipe away my tears. I look onto my prayer mat and forgotten the one thing I could do. The very least I could do. I could pray. Pray to God for His protection. For His mercy. Everything I should leave for Him to decide. I sincerely let go of all the frustration and surrender my life to Him. For knowing that His decision is the best. I catch a glimpse of serenity and it was as if all that burden was lifted of me. I stayed a little longer on the prayer mat that day because I didn’t want to leave the calmness I gained.
Remembering it back, I shouldn’t have doubted His will. As I face the Kaabah to perform my tarawih with my whole family beside me, I am at ease. I am ever so grateful that I am now amongst family. I am so grateful that I will get the Eid that I wanted. I am glad that the virus has subsided, and I get to see my children on that beautiful day. I get to be here, listening to my grandchildren play with fireworks in the garden. I get to hear their stories. I get to sit here and enjoy my family. This Eid is one that I will never forget. This year is a year I will never forget. And neither will you.