What are you preparing for death
 |
| Reflections on Death: A Timeless Reminder from Abdullah Jarallah |
Death—an inevitable reality that unites every soul, yet one we often shy away from contemplating. Few have written about it with such grace and clarity as the late Kuwaiti writer Abdullah Jarallah. Before his passing, he penned a poignant reflection that not only stirs the heart but also urges us to rethink our priorities in this fleeting life. His words, steeped in humility and wisdom, serve as a wake-up call—a reminder of what truly matters when the curtains of this world fall.
In this article, we’ll dive deep into Jarallah’s reflections, expanding on his thoughts to make them relatable, engaging, and thought-provoking. We’ll explore the stages of death, the fleeting nature of worldly attachments, and the eternal significance of our deeds. Whether you’re seeking spiritual insight, philosophical depth, or simply a moment of introspection, this piece aims to leave you with a renewed perspective on life and what lies beyond.
A Calm Acceptance of the Inevitable
Abdullah Jarallah begins his reflection with a striking sense of peace:
> "I will not worry about death, nor will I show unnecessary concern about what happens to my body. I know my Muslim brothers will take care of everything properly."
This isn’t denial or detachment—it’s trust. Jarallah’s faith in his community reflects a universal truth: death is not a solitary event. For Muslims, it’s a collective responsibility where loved ones and neighbors step in to perform sacred rites—washing, shrouding, and burying the deceased with dignity. But beyond religion, this speaks to a human instinct: we care for those who leave us, honoring their journey even as they depart.
Imagine for a moment: when your time comes, who will be there? Who will ensure your final moments are handled with respect? Jarallah’s confidence invites us to consider not just our end, but the legacy of relationships we leave behind. It’s a subtle nudge—live in a way that inspires others to honor you when you’re gone.
The Journey of the Body: A Step-by-Step Farewell
Jarallah vividly outlines the process that follows death, painting a picture that’s both sobering and poetic:
> "They will strip me of my clothes, wash me, shroud me, take me out of my home, and carry me to my new abode—the grave."
Let’s break this down.
1. Stripped of Earthly Layers
The removal of clothes symbolizes the shedding of worldly identity. The designer suits, the favorite scarf, the worn-out sneakers—all the things we cling to as markers of who we are—vanish in an instant. It’s a humbling thought: no matter how much we invest in our appearance, death levels the playing field. Kings and laborers alike are stripped bare, reduced to their essence.
2. Cleansed for the Next Chapter
The washing of the body is a tender act, often performed by those closest to us. In Islamic tradition, it’s a purification ritual, preparing the soul for its meeting with the Divine. But universally, it’s a final act of care—a way to say goodbye with gentleness. Picture the hands of your family or friends, cleansing you one last time. It’s intimate, yet it underscores a stark reality: you no longer have control.
3. Wrapped in Simplicity
The shroud—plain white cloth—replaces the complexity of life with simplicity. No pockets for wealth, no adornments for status. It’s a powerful metaphor: what we chased in life cannot follow us. Jarallah’s words remind us that the grave doesn’t care about our bank accounts or Instagram followers—only the deeds we carry in our hearts.
4. Departure from Home
Being carried out of one’s home is a poignant moment. That space—where you laughed, cried, built memories—becomes a memory itself. The furniture stays, the walls stand silent, and life moves on without you. Jarallah captures this transition with quiet dignity, urging us to reflect: how much of our energy do we pour into things that won’t mourn our absence?
5. The Grave: A New Beginning
The grave, described as a "new abode," flips our perception of death. It’s not an end, but a doorway. For Jarallah, it’s a place of rest before the eternal journey begins. For others, it might symbolize closure or mystery. Either way, it’s a destination we all share—a small plot of earth that becomes our final address in this world.
This sequence isn’t just a ritual; it’s a narrative of letting go. Each step strips away the layers of life, leaving us to face the question: what remains when everything else is gone?
The World Moves On: A Harsh but Honest Truth
Jarallah doesn’t sugarcoat reality:
> "Be certain that the world will neither grieve for me nor pause for me. The movement of the world will not stop for a moment. The economy will continue, someone else will take over my job, my wealth will pass to my heirs."
This is where his reflection stings. We like to think we’re indispensable—that our absence will leave a void. But the truth is, life is relentless. The stock market won’t crash because you’re gone. Your office chair will warm under someone else’s weight. Your savings will fund someone else’s dreams. It’s not cruel; it’s just the nature of a world designed to keep spinning.
Think about it: when was the last time you paused your day to mourn a stranger’s passing? Even for those we love, grief fades. Jarallah notes:
> "Your friends will grieve for hours or days, then return to their chatter and laughter. Your family will mourn for a week, two weeks, a month, two months, or perhaps a year—then place you in the archive of memories."
This isn’t cynicism—it’s observation. Friends will post tributes, then scroll on. Family will weep, then heal. You become a story, a photo on the wall, a name whispered less often as time marches forward. It’s a bittersweet truth: we’re temporary guests in a world that doesn’t wait.
The Loss of Identity: From Name to “The Deceased”
Perhaps the most haunting part of Jarallah’s reflection is this:
> "The first thing I will lose upon my death is my name! They will say, ‘Where is the body?’ ‘Bring the deceased!’ ‘Bring the dead closer.’ They will not call me by my name."
Your name—the sound that defines you, the word tied to your laughter, your struggles, your triumphs—fades into anonymity. In death, you’re no longer “Sarah” or “Ahmed.” You’re “the body,” “the deceased.” It’s a stark erasure of individuality, a reminder that the titles and labels we chase are fleeting.
This shift carries weight. In life, we fight to be remembered—through fame, achievements, or social media likes. Yet, in those final moments, even our name slips away. Jarallah’s insight challenges us: if our identity dissolves so quickly, what should we anchor our lives to instead?
What You Leave Behind—and What Follows You
Jarallah lists the things that vanish:
> "Gone from you will be beauty, wealth, health, children, homes, palaces, your spouse. Nothing will remain except your deeds."
Let’s unpack this.
- Beauty: That face you primped in the mirror? It fades.
- Wealth: The money you saved? It’s divided among others.
- Health: The strength you took pride in? It’s dust.
- Children: They’ll live on, but not with you.
- Homes and Palaces: Your address changes to six feet under.
- Spouse: Even the closest bond breaks at death’s door.
What’s left? Your deeds—the kindness you showed, the hurt you caused, the prayers you whispered, the anger you unleashed. These are your eternal luggage, packed silently through every choice you make. Jarallah’s point is clear: invest in what lasts, not what slips through your fingers.
Preparing for the Real Life: A Call to Action
Jarallah shifts from reflection to guidance:
> "What have you prepared for your grave and your Hereafter from now? Be diligent about obligatory worship, voluntary acts, secret charity, righteous deeds, and the night prayer—so that you may be saved."
This is the heart of his message. Life isn’t about accumulating—it’s about preparing. He offers a practical roadmap:
1.Obligatory Worship: The non-negotiables—like prayer or honesty—form your foundation.
2.Voluntary Acts: Extra efforts—like a smile or a helping hand—add depth.
3.Secret Charity: Giving without fanfare builds sincerity.
4.Righteous Deeds: Small acts of goodness ripple into eternity.
5.Night Prayer: A quiet connection with the Divine sharpens your soul.
Why these? Because they’re investments in the Hereafter—currency the grave accepts when gold and glory fail. Jarallah’s advice is universal: live with purpose, act with intention, and prioritize what endures.
The Power of Charity: A Lesson from the Dead
He closes with a profound insight:
> "Why do the dead wish to give charity if they could return? Because they see its immense effect after death."
Quoting the Quran, he writes:
> "My Lord, if only You had delayed me for a short while, I would have given charity..."
The dead don’t long for more vacations or bigger houses—they crave charity. Why? Because its impact echoes beyond the grave, easing their journey. Scholars, Jarallah notes, say this longing stems from witnessing charity’s rewards firsthand.
His final call? Share this message. “A good word is charity,” he reminds us. In just 10 seconds, you can pass this wisdom on—via a text, a post, a conversation—and plant a seed that blooms in your favor on Judgment Day.
A Final Thought: The Mirror of Mortality
Abdullah Jarallah’s words aren’t just a meditation—they’re a mirror. They force us to face our mortality, question our pursuits, and realign our lives. This world is a stage, and we’re all actors with a finite script. When the lights dim, what will your performance reveal?
So, pause. Reflect. What are you preparing for your “new abode”? Death isn’t morbid—it’s a teacher. And Jarallah, through his timeless reflection, remains one of its most eloquent voices. Share his wisdom, live it, and let it guide you to a life that matters—here and hereafter.
Also read:
COMMENTS