Hooyo, Wheres The Baby?
The last two days were very trying days for my close family. As I write this blog right now, I’m suffering from a lack of sleep! Yesterday I was woken from my sleep in the early hours of the morning by the vibration of my cell phone indicating an in coming call. Still slightly unaware of my surroundings, I rummage under my pillow, cursing slightly under my breath at the idiot who would call at such an ungodly hour and retrieve the still vibrating phone. Looking at the caller display, I’m momentarily shocked to see my aunts name blinking on my screen!
Ten minutes later, I’m starting the engine of our car, spurred by the tremble in my aunts voice, I rush to her house to chauffer her and my younger cousins to my house, where my aunt slips in and out of sleep, whilst I feed, clean and care for my younger cousins. At this moment in time, I do not realise the problem, assuming my aunt is tired due to a flu she’s had, I go about my business. Sometime in the afternoon, my aunts husband arrives and announces that he’s taking her to the hospital. Once their gone, my mother tells me that my aunt is bleeding, at four months pregnant, I wish she had told me sooner. I would’ve forcefully driven her to the hospital myself.
Putting the should’ve, would’ve, could have’s out of my mind, we wait a gruelling length of time, with no word. At 10pm, I dress my sleepy cousins, take them home, change, feed and clean them before putting them to bed.
Around 1am, my aunts husband calls to let me know their still waiting to see a doctor and he’ll try and be back as soon as he can. I struggle to stay awake for a few more hours, until I hear the light tapping of keys on the front door, he’s here. I look at the time on my phone, 3:30am, I must‘ve fallen into a light sleep. Letting him in, I ask a hundred questions, “No, she hasn’t seen a doctor yet. They’ll do a scan tomorrow morning. No, they don’t know what’s wrong yet and thank you for staying with the kids, may Allah bless you”.
Soon after I’m climbing into my bed at almost 4am, after praying fajr and praying for Allah’s help through this time, to grant my aunt sabr and trusting solely that whatever He decrees will be for the best. I wake up 4 hours later, to the sounds of voices from downstairs. It takes awhile for me to fully focus and recognize the voices as my younger cousins. I rise from bed, cleanse and descend down the stairs. My mothers at the hospital with my aunt, the scan is now taking place and my cousins unaware of the events unfolding, play in the garden. Their innocence and energy is both paining and welcome.
A little while later, my aunts husband leaves and my mother returns, swapping roles of support to be by her side. In hushed whispers, so my cousins don’t hear, I ask her what has happened.
“The baby is dead. Its being taken out!”
– she replies and I am lost for words.
My youngest cousin at that point enters the kitchen tugging at my dress, I look down at him “Can I have a drink?” and he smiles that innocent four year old smile, while I pass him a glass of juice. My mother tries to explain to them what has happened, my three cousins. They have so many questions, “Is it not in her tummy anymore? Why did it die? Can she still have other babies? What did it look like?” I admire my mother’s patience.
Later in the evening, my aunt comes to our house, standing at the doorstep I watch her face. As if somewhere in her features lies a script, made of healing words that I could recite to her. Instead, I say “habaryar” and find myself enveloped in a silent hug. I am lost for words, afraid of saying the wrong thing or asking the wrong question, I opt to remain silent. Just then my four year old cousin emerges from behind me, hugging his mother, then asks “Hooyo where’s the baby?”.
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