Life is unpredictable. But I always thought I could predict what was
going to happen next. It was only six days ago. I was driving home
with my friends, Malik and Omar. It was Halloween night. We had just
watched the movie Saw 3 at the recently refurbished theater at the 3rd
Street Promenade in Santo Monica, CA. It was 11:46pm when I glanced
at the clock on the dashboard and realized I hadn't made Isha But I
didn't say anything, as not to upset the mood. Just three hours
earlier I put off the Isha until after the movie. Now I was running
out of time.

I only lived 26 years. My 27th birthday was exactly two weeks away.
I always imagined I would live long. At least until age 60. It just
wasn't imaginable that I would have such a sudden, unexpected death.
I had graduated from the University of Southern California three years
earlier with a degree that means absolutely nothing right now.
Shortly after, I landed a job as the marketing director of a major
clothing company. Aside from the usual life problems, I was living a
normal life. My girlfriend of 4 years was starting to pressure me
into us getting a place together. I knew I wasn't supposed to have a
girlfriend in the first place but I enjoyed her company and
friendship. I wasn't ready to give that up. I used to always tell
myself that eventually I would marry her. Plus, what would these few
years of living a sinful life mean by the time I got older?

My job, girlfriend and life-long friends took up the majority of my
time. It seemed I never had time to offer salah. I hardly even had
time to sit down and eat. Offering salah was always something that
continuously bugged me. The more I postponed my salahs, the more it
irritated me. I did give an effort to keep up on my salahs. But for
the last two years of my life I gave up. I pretty much stopped making
salah altogether. I never made it home in time to make salah that
day. Saw 3 was a walk through the rose garden compared to what I was
about to experience. I was doing 85 on the 10 freeway. At 12
midnight, 85 mph is not considered speeding. Omar flipped through FM
radio stations searching for a song he liked. Malik had fallen asleep
in the back seat. I began to doze off too.

I used to hate when that happened. I shook out of what seemed like a
10 second snooze. I tried to keep my eyes open. But again I dozed
off. Omar screamed, 'HEY! It was too late. The car struck the center
divider and spun back into the flow of traffic. An oncoming car hit
my door. That car was also hit by another vehicle. We finally came
to a halt somewhere in the middle of the freeway, a hundred yards from
the spot of the collision. I didn't feel any pain. I was just dizzy,
I heard Omar and Malik moaning as good civilians tried pulling us from
the wreck.

I wasn't rescued until the fire fighters arrived. It was quite a task
recovering my battered body from my totaled car. Breathing became
difficult. The fire fighters huddled around me and frantically
applied device after device. 'He's not gonna make it,' I heard one of
them say. I 'm not gonna make it? How? I didn't feel like I was
dying. I felt nothing. My heart started pounding. I was soaked in
sweat and blood. I saw Malik standing over the top of me with tears
in his eyes. 'Don't quit on me', he told me. At that time I knew it
was over. I started to cry. The fire fighters moved him away as they
made last attempts to revive me. I died. An angel came to me and
removed my soul. I watched him fly away with it in disbelief. 'How
could you? I'm not even 27,' I pleaded. 'It's time,' he told me and
left. Two minutes later they pulled a white sheet over me. Omar and
Malik, apparently doing better than me, pulled the sheet back to look
at me one last time. They cried their eyeballs out, I had known then
over since I was 13 years old and had never seen either one cry. It
was a depressing sight.

The ride to the morgue, until then, was the worst experience I ever
had. I was alone. It was dark and cold. I missed my mom. I missed
my brother. I missed my sister. I wished I had spent that last night
with my family instead of with Omar and Malik. I worried what my
mother was going to do when she saw me in this state. I was ugly.
When we finally arrived, I was placed in another cold room with dozens
of other dead people. I missed my family so much. Every so often a
family came in to view their dead. I always thought it was my family
but it wasn't. Hour after hour passed. No mom. No dad. I started to
cry again. Then one odd hour I recognised voices. My father walked
in with my mother in his arms. His face worn from stress. Hers wet
with tears. They just stared into my eyes and cried. I stared back.
I wanted to tell them I loved them. I couldn't. I wanted to hug
them. I couldn't. Mom stroked my bloodied hair and left.

I was to be buried the next day. When my parents left, it hit me. I
never made Isha! My heart jumped out of my chest. I owed Allah a
salah and failed to deliver it to him. I had hundreds of missed
salahs over the past two years. Now I was about to face him. I felt
powerless. For those of you who have never experienced guilt at
death, there is not a worldly feeling that amounts to it. It is guilt
and sorrow at another level. I tried getting up to make Isha but I
couldn't move. It was over. I had no second chance.

Then I began to think back. I never knew my memory was so good. I
had more than enough time to ponder as I was awaiting my burial. I
literally remembered every single salah I missed and the reasons why I
missed them. Most were laziness, procrastination and neglectfulness.
I knew I was in trouble. I wished they would take longer to bury me.
I failed! I failed! I failed!

My girlfriend paid me a visit. She was a devil. When I was alive I
saw her as a pretty angel. My pretty angel who loved me and would do
anything to make me happy. If I had the ability, I would have cursed
her and demanded her to leave the morgue. She put her hand on my
forehead. I allowed her to do that for that past four years. Now
that I opposed to it, I could do nothing about it. The devil cried
for hours at my side. She just would not leave. I felt cheated. I
felt like she pulled a prank on me for the past couple years of my
life. I hated this devil! She was ugly! She smelled horrible! She
finally left. As she walked out the door my heart was filled with
fear and anxiety.

The funeral was simple. My body was washed. I didn't seem to care
that my naked body was exposed. My worries far surpassed my desire to
be modest. I was wrapped in three white sheets. About 300 people
attended my funeral. I was saddened not to see my mom at the funeral.
I wished she came to see me one last time before they put me in the
ground. I never knew so many people cared about me. Many just stared
at the tightly wrapped figure in disbelief. Others cried and cried
some more.

The mass prayed for me. Thousands of individual prayers were made.
They asked Allah to have mercy on me. They asked him to forgive me.
I wanted to pray for myself but I couldn't speak. I was helpless. I
was carried to the hole in the middle of the barren desert. The
people followed. It seemed like slow motion. I didn't want to go.
If I had 24 bonus hours I would pray non-stop. They lowered me into
the ground. The anticipation was eating away at me. I had surely
failed life. I thought back on everything I had worked so hard to
accomplish. I earned a college degree. I had a well paying job. I
spent hours and hours in the weight room ever since I was 16 years old
developing my body. I had a pretty girlfriend who loved me. In that
life, that was a badge of honor. But as they were lowering me into
this grave, which seemed like it took forever, I realized that I
couldn't use any of those 'accomplishments'. If only I had been that
dedicated to making salah five times daily, I would have been at peace
right now. Instead I am a nervous wreck beyond anything you all can
comprehend.

Dirt fell in the hole. Darkness overcame my new home. The last
shovels of sand filled the grave. Everyone sadly walked away. The
graveyard started to empty. Family by family. Mine was the last to
leave. The attendant left. By nightfall it was just me. All alone.
My wrapping was soaked in sweat. I nervously awaited the angels to
come and question me. They finally did. My final judgement has not
been reached yet. I am now waiting for judgement day. Still lying
here, alone, as day comes and night falls. Soon I will meet Allah
himself and He will decide weather He will forgive me or not. I can
only lay here, wait and hope The All Forgiving, The Most Merciful
forgives me and does not punish me. I hope. That is all I have right
now. Hope.

By SALEH ALI
Courtesy: Al Jumuah Magazine.