For those who are afflicted with disaster, glad tidings await them: so remain patient and happy with your Lord. "He cannot be questioned as to what He does, while they will be questioned." (Qur'an 21:23)
The futility of wondering why what happened did, teaches me to trust in fate, trust in His Plan, trust that everything transpires for a reason, and faith teaches me that this too, shall pass, this too. For indeed with hardship will be ease, indeed with hardship will be ease, I whisper in the dark, reassuring my flawed faith, drawing blissful strength from the divine words, holding on to them, holding on to myself.
Tiny feet, pattering on the floor, following the shadow of his mother. “Mamma, I’m coming with you,” he intones, trying to catch up, even though she’s only going to the kitchen, a few yards away.
I wonder if he was born with an inherent attachment to his mother, or it was simply the fear of abandonment tugging at his three year old heart. I wonder if that is innate too, or simply born from circumstance. Maybe he isn't old enough to know, but I wonder if he’s astute enough to feel it. Maybe we don’t see all that he sees simply because we believe the young don’t understand so much.
I hypothesize that he does feel it inside, a vague shadow of suspicion, even if he doesn't know yet. I wonder if it’s an inborn intuition, if everyone knows instinctively that they’re birthed by one, but born to two. Just like some of us are broken on the inside, hairline cracks running down our faith, scarring our hope, but we seem undamaged on the outside. Whole, and in one piece. Our perception is but faulty, and an illusion at best.
I look down at his sibling, fragile and perfect, like stained glass. His little hands curl up in soft balls against his chest and his small, beating heart, as he breathes in little sighs, in, out. His sleeping face is serenity personified, minute laughs punctuating his breaths as he dreams in his slumber. I pray for him, for the tables to turn, my qualms whispered in the silence of the night to the All Hearing. I wish for his contentment to endure perpetually.
I remember when I saw his mother gazing in wonderment at his minuscule feet. They were only as long as my thumb and as wide as two of my fingers. “They’re so beautiful,” she sighed and kissed them, the pink clean soles soft as down.