Bismiʾllah.
When I declared shahāda back in September 2006, I didn’t tell my parents until a month later. Like many others whom I’ve spoken to about their coming-to-Islām sagas, there was an apprehension
about the way that such news would be received by family members and other loved ones. Even if in the case of those, myself included (al-Ḥamduliʾllah), who have parents and/or a pre-existing familiar network that are well-educated and open to many varying concepts and experiences, it is still a daunting notion to think that one decision could change how they look and interact with you.
Albeit this preoccupation with acceptance was genuinely menacing, it was the “when” as opposed to the “if” that became the primary issue. At the time of Writing, my maternal grandmother was ailing miserably from the throes of lung cancer. It is a given that my immediate household family and several others were absorbed in the mindset and tasks associated with such a burden. Being seven time zones away did not grant me the luxury to speak to my loved ones, especially my grandmother, on a consistent basis. I expended my money on calling cards. With foil shavings caked under my thumbnail and a whore of a receiver to my ear, I spent my nights leaning against a pay-phone post and kept my shoulders introverted to stave the stiff, autumn breezes from making me feel colder than I already did. In the five months that I was away, the phone was only picked up nine times… five of them being my brother.
So it was the one time that I did get to speak to my mother (she had just returned from a hospital visit) that I told her that I became Muslim, and proceeded to sheepishly explain my spiritual needs and their satiation within this new and permanent venture. I already knew that her mind was still back in the extended care unit from whence she just came. Yet the expectation that I would be able to have a meaningful and understanding discussion with her was too lofty. It was a harrowing and depressing feeling to know that your mother is hearing you but not listening.
“I can’t wrap my mind around what you’re telling me right know, but just know that you will be changing the dynamics of this family. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? Love you lots.”
I wouldn’t get a chance to speak to her again until I came home for the funeral.
In retrospect, I still lack clarity on what Allah ﷻ manifested to me during that ordeal. I question whether I was selfish in my timing or if I was justified for taking a sparse opportunity. As of yet, there is no closure to that feeling, much like the end of this post.
- Ryan
(You can follow Ryan on his blog @ http://ryanbhilliard.tumblr.com and you can read more pieces from our community members @ the Our Voices page)
