'A's friend brought Bilal's body to his family today, because its dangerous for Sunni men to pick their dead up from the city morgue. They washed his body and prepared it for burial in our house. This might sound morbid to some people, but for me, I feel that my house has been honored by having this shaheed cleansed in it. They prayed the janazah prayer in another neighbor's yard.
Bilal had been in the morgue for three days, but not in a fridge, because the morgue had run out of space. He had no smell coming from him. InshaAllah, that is a sign that he is a shaheed, accepted by Allah. He has a smile on his face. Looks very serene and comfortable. Like he has rested from this world's burdens. I saw his picture. He is beautiful and shining.
His mother is holding up well. She's tough. She told us that she's patient on the outside, but her heart is burnt up on the inside, torn asunder. She told us that when she saw him, she kissed him and told him how much she missed him. She told him, "You don't have to study anymore, your finished with your college studies." And it seemed like he smiled. Then she told him, " And you are a shaheed- a martyr," and it seemed as if he smiled even more. Allahumma taqabbalahu.
They took him to bury him next to his grandfather, in a cemetary near Abu Ghraib- a very dangerous area to travel to now. My husband told me there were masked men with kalashinkovs along the way, with arbitrary check ups set up. My mother in law was afraid for them making this journey, but alhamdulillah, they came back safely. And Bilal was left behind buried under the ground. In a much better place.
I have a picture of his older brother, 'A', sitting near his grave, pondering at the ground. It's such a moving picture. It shakes me to see 'A' so sober, so worn out; 'A' who is always laughing, making jokes.
It's been six days, and the ordeal is finally over. Six hellish days. A week ago we never imagined that a week later we'd be left with broken hearts.