Posted 16/1/2016
Who Died?
Who died?
As I sat beside my nephew, curled up in the fetal position on his hospital bed, I realized I wasn’t just talking to him. I was speaking to myself. In those final moments, I was confronting my own fears of death and dying. I whispered into his ear, urging him to take refuge in Allah, reminding him that in the face of death, there is nothing to fear except God.
I tried to impress upon him that there is nothing left in the physical realm that can save him once the doctors have done all they can, once the plug has been pulled and we are left with only the breath in our lungs. The most important thing at this moment is the mind—how it plays its role in letting go, in surrendering. There’s no greater challenge than this: to let go of everything we’ve held onto in this life, to trust in the Divine, to face the unknown with faith and acceptance.
In Tibetan Buddhism, death is faced with guidance. A monk or priest sits with the dying person, whispering instructions to them about what to expect, how to react to the images, sounds, or sensations they will encounter in their final moments. This practice, described in the Bardo Todol (the Tibetan Book of the Dead), provides a step-by-step guide to help the person remain calm and lucid, easing the transition into the afterlife.
In contrast, in Islam, the Quran is recited, especially Surah Yasin, which is considered the heart of the Quran. The hope is that these verses will focus the mind of the dying person on their faith in Allah, but I’ve rarely seen anyone address the dying with the words they truly need to hear. It’s not just about reciting verses; it’s about reminding the person that what they see and hear in those moments of transition are just mental states and illusions—that they can remain grounded in their faith and trust in God’s will.
In my experience, I’ve often witnessed recitations of the Quran around the dying, but rarely do I see someone speak directly to them in a way that they can understand. The verses may be soothing, but they don’t address the essential need to release fear and embrace the unknown. Without understanding, the words simply become noise—a distraction from the inevitable reality.
In less than a year, I’ve witnessed the death of three nephews—each for different reasons. I was present at their funerals, and for two of them, I was by their bedside as they passed. It has been an experience—one that, at my age, is perhaps to be expected, to witness death up close. And in these moments, I’ve come to realize the fragility of life, and how insignificant or significant life is to each individual.
It’s so important to live life with purpose and dignity, to face death with a sense of meaning. Too many people waste their lives, and when they die, it’s like discarding an unwanted rag. As Mark Twain once said, “There are those when they depart from this life, we breathe a breath of regret; and those who depart and we breathe a breath of relief.”
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