Coping With Adolescent Grief Planted The Seeds for Inner Peace as an Adult

by Mahjabeen Islam-Husain

My adolescence was ushered in with the simultaneous loss of my two older brothers in an automobile accident in Turkey. From an only daughter I was suddenly an only child. Prior to our loss I had most-favored-child status with my father, a Pakistani diplomat. After it, I was faced with the specter of a broken man, who just could not reconcile with the awful void.

A 13-year-old mind can figure out situations and their fallout only to a point. My mother submitted to the will of God, while my father had internal and overt arguments about free will and predetermination, played out against a backdrop of guilt and overwhelming grief.

Those were dark days indeed. No physician made the obvious diagnosis of depression although we were at this point well past the three-month grief reaction. In fact my father probably would not have accepted any pharmacological help, for, ironically, weeping for his sons was the only balm for his unending sorrow.

Meanwhile my own turmoil of the teens, where glancing at the mirror was a rude jolt, was accompanied by the culture shock of transplantation to Singapore. I was trying, not very successfully, to cope with Oriental adolescents who probably could not get past their own teen-turmoil to befriend me.

At a time when peer approval is something to live and die for, I had none. The picture of the kids at school unabashedly staring at me, arms folded, mouths zipped, is permanently etched in my mind. Of course I blamed myself for my adjustment problems. I was sure I was weird in some way or other.

The frenzied schedule of the diplomatic corps still left room for my father’s grieving. At this point we were five years past the loss of my brothers, but our home was always heavy with sadness despite my mother’s heroic efforts to go forward. Perhaps an individual’s will to live influences his life span. In any case, my father’s yearning for his sons took him to them fairly quickly. A 52-year-old avid tennis player with no diagnosed medical problems, he simply collapsed on the tennis court.

I bade farewell to my teens as I had to my brothers and now to my father, but somehow just did not get it. Why them? Why him? And why not me? I would awaken every morning, only to wish I had not. Life in its brutal unconcern went on as though nothing had happened.

Friends and family would tritely ascribe our loss to the will of God. Despite my despair I remember wanting to tell them that regardless of His will, all I knew was that it felt like hell.

My relationship with God was pretty strong. But, to my chagrin, my love and fear for the children was stronger.

The “spiritually developed” quoted from the Holy Qur’an: “Allah does not lay a responsibility on anyone beyond his capacity” (2:286). Unfortunately, that seemed to just wash away with my tears. After the denial stage was over, I went headlong into the deepest abyss, wallowing in a self-perpetuating agony. A yearning to transfer from the emotional pits to the other world simply would not materialize. Relatives added insult to injury, minimizing my grief in comparison to that of my mother, a widow at 40, essentially demanding that I “snap out of it.” Snap I did, but sort of the other way into it!

The whirlpool of my endless grief finally settled into the calm of non-function. Depression was so poorly recognized that I was stigmatized with its label—as though, good Lord, I still did not have the right to follow the course of normal human psyche and have the “luxury” of a breakdown! All this because my mother is indeed of an entirely “super-human” cadre, not following the principles of human psychology. So excuse me for being normal!

My recovery was prolonged and painful, and, interestingly, it planted the seed for my current inner peace and contentment. “Hold fast together to the cable of Allah.” (Qur’an 3:103). I remember being lifted out of my despair by an intangible majesty. I read the translation and commentary of the Qur’an, and was struck by three recurring themes: First, the great love that God has for us, and His mercy and forgiveness. Second, the very categorical manner in which Man is advised to avoid shirk, i.e., equating any entity with God. Allah in His Qur’an states repeatedly that he will forgive any and all sins, but not the sin of shirk.

A Sensitive Issue

I was pretty impressed with this recurring theme and, on a lighter note, always say that Allah is very sensitive about this equating business, and I can’t say I blame Him. (I also believe that Allah has a sense of humor). If an entity has created the heavens and the Earth, and has complete knowledge of happenings everywhere and all the time, His majesty is unparalleled. So being placed on a par with one of His own creations would be justifiably intolerable.

The third theme in the Qur’an on which I focused were the graphic descriptions of heaven and hell, out-of-this-world luxury on the one hand and spine-chilling horror on the other. The Qur’an mentions also the concept of trial and punishment in this world.

Naturally this sent me on a personal inventory, trying to figure out whether the loss of three people was a test or divine retribution. Hesitatingly, I came to the conclusion that I had not amassed enough sins, in 18 years of living, to deserve big league punishment such as this.

I remember the beginnings of my relationship with Allah. I was so grateful that Islam allows, in fact promotes, a direct relationship with God without the need for intermediaries. It is a well-established Muslim belief that there is no difference amongst people except in the level of piety. And this piety is, of course, something of which only Allah has complete knowledge.

Islam also is not an “institution-based” religion. One can be a great Muslim independent of the frequency of attendance at a mosque. Islam is, in its entirety, a “deeds-based” religion, our good and bad deeds landing us in trouble, or bliss, sometimes in this world and certainly in the afterlife.

The Qur’an states that Allah is closer to us than our jugular vein, and is aware of even our passing thoughts. This concept has always been especially endearing to me, and has catalyzed the development of my strong tie to Him. In the Qur’an He states: “So remember me and I shall remember you” (2:152), further confirming the experience of individuals that a relationship with God is of an incremental and reciprocal nature. Remembering Him is the primary nutrient for the growth and development of a relationship with Him.

Human nature must go through the relevant progression before attaining the desired result. Medical school and marriage passed without too much trauma. (A few “border skirmishes” in the latter, I’m told, are par for the course.) The birth and growth of my children, however, re-ignited my paranoia: the fear, the wait for “the other shoe to fall.”

By this point my relationship with God was pretty strong. But, to my chagrin, my love and fear for the children was stronger. My mind would play fear-games, repeatedly, and my imagination graphed endless permutations of the “what if” game. Passing my hand through the crib slats, and keeping it on my baby’s chest all night (SIDS does not happen if you do that!), not allowing my children to ride in any one else’s car, not allowing swimming without the keenest supervision, etc., etc., all took their stress toll.

Allah helped me again. I read the book Al Fath-ar-Rabbani by Sheikh Abdul Qadir Jeelani, a great spiritual guide of the 12th century. The book is a collection of his discourses, all of which have the unity of God, increasing our love for Him, and giving up control to Him as their main themes. At about the same time my mother recited a couplet by a famous Persian poet, Sheikh Sa’adi, in which he portrays Allah as saying:

If you want fulfillment of your own desires relinquish your bond with Me.

If you desire Me then give up control to Me.

Almost immediately my mind settled down. My tireless fears evaporated and my paranoid monsters died. The net result was a sense of pervasive peace.

My formula for this state of contentment is the recognition of God, the attesting to His oneness, adoring Him and, most importantly, relinquishing control to Him. It must always be remembered that as far as control is concerned, all physical laws will apply, and control means trusting Allah after taking a particular action within the realm of His laws.

Life’s tribulations (little ones now, thank God) continue, as they do for all of us. A very beautiful verse in the Qur’an says: “They are those who believe and whose hearts find peace in the remembrance of Allah; verily in the remembrance of Allah do hearts find peace” (13:28). One must try to develop cognition and remembrance of God to the point that His Love and Mercy envelop us and life’s events ricochet off this insulation, never disturbing the peace within.