Promise Me - Part 5

The moonlight that shone through the glass window, illuminated his angelic face. I approached his bed cautiously, afraid that the sound of my footsteps would awaken him. I stood there, next to his bed and simply watched him sleep. A child is born so pure, so filled with innocence and bliss ignorance. I wish I was a child once more, like my son where life seemed so simple and either black or white.

How similar we are, Adam. I thought as I stroke his hair. His life paralleled mine. I, too, lost my mother when I was only 6. She didn't die. She just did not want my father and I. We were a burden to her. To me, she was spiritually dead. My father must have been a strong man, not like me. He forgave her. I never did.

How different Diana was to her - Diana who tried so hard to make sure that our son, Adam was well loved, well taken care - Diana who sacrificed her own needs so that our son's needs and mine can be met. Diana would put Adam's needs first before hers. I grew up hating my mother. I knew Adam loved his mother. How was he coping with the lost of his mother? I was just too engrossed in my own feelings and I forgot about his.

"I'll take care of you, my son." I whispered - the same words my father uttered to me on the night my mother walked out of our lives. "I'll bring you to see Sarah, your sister." I buried my head in his blanket. He was the only remaining link to Diana, near me. I would never let anyone harm him, no even me. Oh God, give me the strength to carry on. I love him so much, God. I love him.

I thought it was only a few minutes that I laid down next to him. It turned out to be the whole night. The sound of Adhan, from the nearest mosque woke me up. Ash'hadu an la ilaha illa-llah! Ash'hadu anna muhammadar rasulu-llah! I assert that there is no God but Allah. I assert that Muhammad is the messenger of God. My heart whispered. The calling of God was so gentle even to sinners like me. Will God forgive me? Is this God's way of telling me that I am given a second chance?

The calling for the people to rise was over. How many actually wake up to perform their prayers? I wondered how many were like me who ignored the simple calling - who pushed it aside for materials and success. I didn't want my son to be like me, blind of faith.

"Adam, wakeup, my son." I called to him. He rubbed his eyes, half-awake. "Is it subuh already, Papa? Mama always told me to do my prayers." I tried to control the knot that suddenly formed in my throat. My son was better than me. Diana had taught him well. "Papa, can we pray together? Mama always prayed with me." I nodded as tears filled my eyes, I held out my hand to meet his. Kindness begets kindness, they say. Yet, I did nothing to deserve the kindness that Diana gave me.

When our prayer ended, Adam came to me and put his head on my lap. We sat in silence for awhile. I could feel warm tears trickling down my legs. Adam was crying softly. "Papa, please pray that we will meet Mama in heaven. I met her last night, Papa. She hugged me. Do you love me, Papa?" I could only nod my head silently. Any response deemed too painful for me. I would give virtually anything to take the pain away from him, I would virtually do anything.

That morning, I vowed my life to Allah, the God, Most Gracious, Most Merciful. Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. Finally, I found what I was looking for - peace.