Letter to the Beloved

In the Name of God, the Subtle, the Loving

Most Beautiful, Holy, and Noble Messenger of God,

May the unending Peace, Grace, Mercy, Love, Light, and Soothing Presence of the Precious Beloved Lord be upon and with you always. I send my salutations to you and my thanks for your enormous sacrifice on my behalf: so that I can know the One True Lord in all His Glory and Beauty. I am thankful, blessed, and honored to be among your followers and your community. I pray that I see your glorious face on the Day of Resurrection smiling at me, and that we are in communion with one another for all of eternity in the Light of God’s Face and Love.

Beloved Messenger, I am hurting.

By the will of God, my eldest daughter passed away almost four months ago after battling lymphoma, a cancer of the lymph nodes. It was a terrible disease, and although we did our best to fight it, the Precious Lord called his flower back to Him to thrive unscathed in His Garden, where no flower wilts and no frost will ever come. Yet, beloved Messenger, I am hurting.

It was torture to see her ravaged by the disease. It was torture to see her suffer so much pain at the hands of the cancer. And the treatment was no better: it really made her sick and it hurt her almost as much as the cancer itself. I am not, holy Messenger, complaining. But that is the way it is with cancer treatments in our day and age. Sometimes, the treatment is worse than the disease itself.

Yet, I am writing to you because I want to try to comfort myself with a little bit of your presence. How did you do it? I write as one parent to another. How did you manage to bury every one of your children except one? How did you manage the torture of seeing your child pass from existence before your eyes and then put dirt on top of his or her body? I know that I am not as you. You are stronger; you are closer to the Lord; you are His Beloved; you are my Messenger from Him.

I do not delude myself into placing myself in the same sentence, let alone realm of faith and strength, as you, O precious Messenger. Yet, you know, better than anyone else, the pain of losing a child. You know, better than anyone else, how difficult it is to watch your child die in front of your eyes. You know, better than anyone, else the torture of surviving and burying a child. How did you do it?

When I reflect upon the pain I feel, many times my thoughts drift to you, O Sweet Prince. I think about how you must have felt when your two sons, born of my beautiful Mother Khadijah, passed away before your ministry. I think about how your Noble Daughters, Ruqiyyah, Umm Kulthum, and Zaynab, also died while you were alive and tending to the faithful. I think about how you cried tears of immense pain – similar tears to my own – when you held Master Ibrahim in your arms as he passed away. In fact, Beloved Messenger, the words you uttered when Master Ibrahim went back to His Lord were very comforting to me. I thank God and you for them.

When I think of all these things, O Messenger, it brings me comfort, for I know that you have suffered much more than I. And it makes me grow in awe, and respect, and reverence, and admiration, and love for you. I am ugly while He is beautiful, and I am nothing compared to you. Yet, your life and its story have given me hope and comfort, and inspiration. You are an amazing human being, indeed truly the best of creation, and I am again honored and blessed to be in your Nation.

Messenger of God, I love you. May He grant me everlasting communion with you and your Companions, and may we meet on Judgment Day smiling at each other. Whenever my heart twinges with the enormous pain when my thoughts dwell upon my beautiful daughter as she left this world, I think about what you had to endure with your children, and I am comforted. I thank you for that, and I thank God for that first and foremost.

May God’s Eternal Peace, Grace, Love, Light, Mercy, and Blessings be upon and with you always, my beloved Messenger, and may we all be reunited with our families in everlasting Peace and Happiness.


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