HOW I WOULD LOVE TO DIE

One of the earliest lessons my childhood impressed upon me was the inevitability of death. I remember lying awake, heart racing at the mere mention of it, a fear so visceral it felt almost physical. Over time, however, I made a deliberate peace with that fear. I resigned myself to faith and resolved to let death serve as a constant reminder: an incentive toward good and a deterrent from evil. There is not a day that passes without death crossing my mind. It has become, quite simply, second nature. This brings me to the theme of today's reflection: how I would love to die.

Throughout my life, I have nursed a pathological aversion to asking people for help. I am, in the truest sense, allergic to dependence. This deeply-held disposition shapes my thinking about how I would prefer to leave this world. I would not want my death to become a burden that my loved ones lack the capacity to bear. A prolonged, debilitating illness, the kind that drains a family financially and emotionally over months or years, is not the exit I would choose for myself. A brief illness, on the other hand, strikes me as the ideal compromise: enough time for sins to be expiated through suffering, yet brief enough to spare my family an ordeal that could break them.

I have always been a person who thinks several steps ahead. Living one day at a time as I currently do, I have nonetheless given considerable thought to how I hope to exit this world, not out of morbidity, but out of the same deliberateness with which I approach everything else in life. One might ask: what of your goals, your ambitions, your unfinished work? My answer is simple. Beyond the ultimate goal of leaving this world in a state that earns the pleasure of Allah and attaining Jannah, nothing else holds permanent weight. Everything else is scaffolding, useful while the building goes up, but ultimately temporary.

That said, I want to be clear: I do not live a life weighed down by gloom. I had to pause an absorbing historical fantasy novel just to sit down and write this. Life, for me, is rich and engaging. I find that dhikr brings an unmatched tranquillity to the heart, a stillness that grounds me even in restless moments. I am no saint, I fail, and I fail often, but failure only sharpens my resolve. Every stumble is a reminder of what I am striving toward: to leave this world in a state where Allah is most pleased with me.

If I am being completely honest, my most preferred manner of death is a sudden one. No prolonged suffering, no economic strain on those I love, no drawn-out farewells. Yet I recognise that sudden death, Islamically, carries its complexities, the question of whether one is caught in a moment of readiness or otherwise. Hence my earlier compromise: a brief illness, enough to prompt repentance and reflection, but mercifully short. I keep an updated wasiyyah for precisely this reason. Death has been factored into my life not as something to dread, but as something to prepare for.

In the end, this world is temporary, a waiting room, not a destination. I would rather sacrifice its fleeting comforts for the eternal comforts of what lies beyond. May Allah keep me steadfast upon the deen, and take my life at a moment when He is most pleased with me.

Ameen.