It took two years of counselling, with a trauma specialist, and a further two-and-a-half years of mediation, six years, all told, of separation, for me to finally start to let go. It hasn’t been easy; I cope by not thinking about it where possible; it has occupied enough of my time and heart and intruded upon me long enough.
When it does encroach upon me, every now and then, I make dua and endeavour to re-center myself, in the moment. Allahu alam what the future holds… I never thought I would be here and who knows in six more years where any of us will be. This day, this breath as it leaves my body and my Iman are all that I have; I let that anchor me. Alhamdulillah.
Sometimes I’m shut off and I all but forget and sometimes I suddenly remember and my blood runs cold and I catch my breath. The knowledge that I will never see him again brings both panic and relief… not always in equal measure. As my daughter lies tossing and turning in the cot-bed she’s fast out-growing I sit in the fading light fighting the urge to dwell on the thoughts of him that writing has stirred.
Just last week a friend asked how I felt about the khula and I told her I was at peace with it. I was almost surprised at my own answer… had to hesitate to be sure of it before replying. Tonight though I’m guilty of grieving for that which Allah has not decreed… and there’s an ache inside that I’m not sure I want to leave… because if it does it there’ll be nothing left of him in me.
I turn to Allah. I force my mind towards Him and I feel my heart stall for a moment before following… and then there is ease to accompany the lump in my throat. The anticipation of the serenity of the hereafter surges up and washes over me…the sense of its nearness strikes me in one instant and in the next I feel its distance… my soul feels its pull and I miss Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala desperately…and I’m tired… and I long to go home and be free.