The gatekeepers notebook, p.22
The Gatekeeper’s Notebook, page 22
“Aw…” complained Dalia.
“I know, but I’m running late as is.”
“Morning, Mommy,” chorused the children.
Nafiza entered the kitchen looking refreshed. “Morning, people,” she sang out making her rounds; inspecting each child’s attire. Abdullah watched as she adjusted collars, re-pined Dalia’s hijab, and gave each child an approving peck on the top of their heads.
I am indeed blessed.
Abdullah held out his arms waiting for his hug.
Nafiza seductively pressed her body into his. “Good morning, sir,” she said, arching her back and lifting her face; saving a tender kiss just for him.
“Ew,” moaned Munir.
“How do you think you got here, boy?” teased Abdullah, winking at Nafiza who, although shooting him a disapproving eye roll, still seemed powerless to stop herself from laughing.
“Ra’id,” Nafiza barked, attempting to go back to business. “I need you to make sure you hand the teacher the note today. No more goofing around or you won’t be able to be dismissed early for your dental appointment tomorrow.”
Ra’id, mouth jam-packed, gave a quick confirming nod.
Standing at the counter with his back facing the family, Abdullah finished prepping his travel mug of coffee, admiring his wife’s ability to implement an orderly system in an otherwise chaotic existence.
“Dalia, here.” Nafiza handed her a lunch bag. “And eat all of it, including your carrots.”
“Do I have to?” Dalia grumbled, hands crossed over her chest in her typical bratty sulk mode.
“Dalia,” chastised her father.
“Okay,” she pouted, shoving the lunch into her backpack.
“Munir, don’t forget to go to the Lost and Found about your jacket,” said Nafiza.
“Another one?” asked Abdullah.
“Third time this year,” answered his wife, adjusting his collar. Mutually drained from the parent struggle they both shared a longsuffering laugh.
“I gotta go,” announced Abdullah, grabbing his mug. “Kids, listen to your mother. Do well in school. Dalia, eat your carrots. And Munir—”
“I know…my jacket.”
“Excellent.” Abdullah ruffled his son’s hair. Tilting his head, Abdullah planted a kiss on his wife’s cheek. “I’ll be thinking about last night all day,” he whispered, smirking. “Any chance you’ll be wearing that tee-shirt again tonight?” he teased.
Nafiza pushed him playfully away. “Go to work.”
Abdullah had only been half-joking. The time spent together the evening before had been incredible. Then again, most nights were. “Fine. I’m off. As salaamu alaikum everybody.”
“Wa alaikum salaam chorused his family in return.
Before stepping out of the kitchen, Abdullah stole one long look at the family Allah had blessed him with; marveling over the love he felt for each one. He glanced over at his wife…his friend and his heart. The mere thought of losing either Nafiza or his children scared him senseless.
* * *
Nafiza
With everyone gone, Nafiza had a small window of time to take a breather before diving head first to tackle the endless homes chores that seemed to multiply while she slept. She considered the quiet of the morning her time to rejuvenate…pay homage to her thoughts without battling the constant intrusion of little voices demanding the next this or that. Needling her, making deals or outright begging, anything to satisfy their every last whim. Skillfully manipulating her for the next treat or indulgence, all while using that grating high-pitched whiny voice infused with the power to cause the nerves of all human mothers to stand on edge.
Nafiza wiped the crumbs off the kitchen table, waiting for the kettle to boil.
How is it possible that I already miss Abdullah? My rock. My partner.
The man who knocked her socks off and kept her smiling.
I’m so proud of him.
Each morning, as he walks out the door to provide for his family, a portion of her heart leaves along with him.
He’s such a good man. Honest… trustworthy.
Nafiza could never get her fill of her husband’s affection; his warm embraces, the long, lingering kisses.
Even after all these years, the kids, the mortgage, the septic tank, the car payments—you name it, and yet she still longed to hear his voice on the other end of the phone. Because of his love, affection, and devotion, Nafiza considered herself to be the most blessed person on earth. Sometimes she found it burdensome having to share Abdullah with a community who sometimes treated him more like an appendage than a source of knowledge; habitually ungrateful for his efforts.
Not only does he provide sound counsel to anyone who seeks his help, but he takes his obligations to the community seriously.
I don’t understand how he does it. Listening to people’s problems all the time. It would have driven me crazy a long time ago.
“Being the Imam is a big responsibility,” he’d remind Nafiza when she got upset. “I offer counsel to people who are dealing with major life issues sometimes. Not only do they want my help or advice, but they want me to protect their secrets and agreements asa well. Sometimes I’m privy to information that I never thought I’d ever hear—private, intimate issues on often difficult, painful topics.”
Ya Allah, if Abdullah isn’t careful, he’s going to get burnt dealing with these flaky folks.
Women from the community naturally assumed that since Nafiza was the Imam’s wife, that somehow made her their second choice to confide in, but unlike Abdullah, Nafiza never made the same commitment and couldn’t be bothered getting entangled in people’s drama, until now.
Nafiza drummed her fingers on the table.
What if Kalila is just toying with Amara’s husband to mess with her?
As vengeful and as irritating as Amara could get, she’s not someone to randomly piss off. Not the type to hesitate; just go for the attack whether right or wrong. And when she did, there would be nowhere to hide from the wrath of that unbalanced, scornful woman if she felt impeded upon.
Kalila’s playing with fire. Maybe I should warn her…
Then again, sometimes the best course of action with the unhinged is to accept that they won’t likely change and then detach. Stay as polite as possible to avoid future dramatic scenes, and slip far, far away. Unfortunately, that tactic hadn’t worked for Kalila.
It had taken everything Nafiza had to feign indifference when Abdullah first broached the topic of Kalila. However, directing her husband’s attention elsewhere, to a more pleasurable wavelength hadn’t been difficult at all.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Surprise Visitor
KALILA STOOD ON FELICIA’s porch feeling like an imbecilic interloper, but a promise was a promise.
Why did I agree to this?
Her shoe scraped the cement step.
What do I say? “Hi! Heard you were dying… how about if Melvin stays with us?”
Yup, that sounds just as ludicrous as I feel.
Misery bore through her insides like a tsunami.
A handsome, middle-aged woman, Kalila assumed to be Ruth, Felicia’s nurse by Hamza’s description, opened the door after the third knock. “Can I help you?” she asked kindly.
“Hi. I’m Kalila Rahim from next door,” she said, pointing to her house. “I’m Hamza’s mom?” Kalila hated when her voice got that annoying question lilt to it whenever she got nervous.
“Oh yes,” Ruth smiled. “Nice of you to stop by. I’m Ruth,” she said reaching out to shake Kalila’s hand. For a small woman, she had an impressive firm grip.
“I should have called in advance, but I just wanted to pop in to say hello to Felicia to see how she’s doing.” Kalila practically shoved the box of cookies she brought at Ruth like some sweepstake door prize.
“Oh, how lovely!” Ruth stepped to the side. “Why don’t you come in and wait here. I’ll go see if Felicia’s feeling up to a short visit.”
Kalila picked up on Ruth’s subtle reference to the word short. “That would be great, thanks. I won’t keep her long,” Kalila added, hoping her not too long comment would sway in her favor, but just as Ruth turned to leave, a voice called out from a room somewhere inside.
“Ruth?” said the voice, presumably Felicia, “is someone here?”
“Yes. Your neighbor,” called Ruth. “Hamza’s mom.”
“Kalila,” prompted Kalila, silently mouthing her name.
“Kalila,” added Ruth, winking her thanks.
“Oh, how nice,” called Felicia. “Come in, Kalila.”
Shutting the door behind Kalila, Ruth leaned in and whispered, “Felicia loves visitors.”
Kalila followed Ruth down the long corridor, past the kitchen where she saw Melvin at the table.
“Morning Melvin,” Kalila waved.
Melvin peered up from his bowl; his eyes clouding over in confusion. Tilting his head to the side, he tentatively waved back.
“This way,” said Ruth.
“See you later, Melvin,” called Kalila, smiling and waving back.
Melvin clicked his tongue three times. “See you later,” he repeated flatly and resumed eating.
“Morning!” greeted Felicia, stretched out on a recliner. A small pillow supported her head while the lower half of her body remained hidden under a lap blanket. “I’d get up, but Ruth’s got me bundled up like a chrysalis. I’ve got to be the oldest damn butterfly on the planet,” she jested.
“No need,” laughed Kalila, making her way over to the chair to give Felicia a slight peck on the cheek. “I come bearing cookies.”
“Oh. How lovely,” said Felicia. Kalila opened the box for Felicia to peek inside. “My favorite.”
Kalila somehow doubted that but beamed anyway.
“Sit anywhere,” said Felicia, pointing around the room. “Usually it’s standing room only,” she teased again.
Kalila chose a chair closest to Felicia. “Sorry I haven’t been here before now,” she said, “but things have gotten hectic since Bashir’s—” She didn’t feel right saying the funeral, so she opted to breeze right past it. “Everything’s been hitting me all at once, and to be honest, I’m still trying to pick up all the pieces.”
“Please, no need to explain,” said Felicia warmly. “I understand. Most of my days were spent in a perpetual state of blur after Bill died.”
“I can so relate.”
Felicia nodded. “But I will say this; that experience taught me an invaluable lesson.”
“Which was?”
“That time is a great equalizer. It waits for nobody. You go through life plodding along, thinking that you’ll always have time to accomplish what you’ve put on the back burner except that before you know it, time slips out of control and speeds ahead just when you least expect it, and by then,” Felicia sighed. “By then, you’re stuck on the ride from hell with no way of getting off.” Her words trickled into nothingness as she stared dreamily off into the distance.
“Felicia?” whispered Ruth, observing the conversation while standing quietly off to the side.
“Huh? Oh, I’m so sorry, Kalila. I tend to get morose sometimes.”
“You’re fine,” assured Kalila.
Ruth gently patted Felicia’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you two alone to catch up,” she said, then asked, “Tea, Kalila?”
“Thank you. I’d love some.”
“Do you prefer herb? Black? Decaf?” Ruth asked, her hand resting protectively on Felicia’s shoulder. “And how do you take it?”
“Plain—no sugar or milk, and either herb or black. No decaf. Thanks.”
“You got it.” Ruth crooked her head toward Felicia, still nursing her mug of tea. “How are you doing? Want a top-off?”
“No, no,” said Felicia, cupping the top of her mug. “I’m still good.” Felicia’s eyes drifted down. “Oh! Did you see what Kalila brought us?” she asked, pointing to the box of cookies resting on her lap.
“I certainly did.” Ruth slightly lifted the corner top to steal a quick peek. “Oh, I love these. May I?”
“Please,” encouraged Kalila, relieved she’d selected the right ones. “I brought enough for everyone.”
Ruth raised the box to her face and took a whiff. Her eyes fluttered to the ceiling. “That smell. I wish they could bottle it.” She said making her selection. “I’ll ask Melvin if he wants some.” Ruth placed the opened box on the coffee table and left the two women alone. Felicia, never one to mince words, seized the moment. “So, I assume Hamza told you?”
Kalila shrank back in her chair some, sighing. “Only bits and pieces, but enough to know it’s extremely dire.” Kalila, also not one to mince her words, continued. “He also told me that when the time comes, you intend on going to—Hamza called it a place, but I’m assuming hospice care?”
“I prefer Hamza’s word ‘place’ better, but yes, hospice. It seems checkout time is around the corner. Time to skedaddle.” Felicia cleared her throat, pointing to the cookie box. “Would you mind handing me one of those? The chocolate rainbow kind. I love ’em.”
Leaning forward, Kalila held the box open for Felicia so she could select the cookie she wanted. Kalila recalled, just before her own mother passed, how important it had been for her to retain the dignity of making even the smallest of decisions.
“Here,” Kalila said, placing the cookie on the extra wax paper the bakery had laid on top.
“Ah, thank you.” Felicia opened her mouth but only wide enough to manage a small nibble. “Perfect,” she mumbled, winking appreciatively.
“Big bites cause me horrendous coughing fits,” she said, noticing Kalila’s disconcerted expression. “The chocolate is the best part.” Closing her eyes, Felicia nodded her approval. “Delicious,” she moaned in delight.
Kalila picked out a cookie for herself and bit down. “Hmm. You’re right. They are pretty good.”
“The best.” Felicia dabbed her lips with her napkin. “Now, where were we?”
“The hospice.”
“Ah yes, how could I forget?” Felicia’s face saddened. “It’s the building directly across from that new smoothie bar on Main Street.”
Kalila furrowed her brow, trying to place it.
“I’m sure you’ve seen it a hundred times but never noticed it before. It’s been there for years.”
Kalila still looked puzzled.
“It’s got a donut shop on the corner—what’s it called? Some silly name. Ah!” she snapped her fingers. “I remember now. A Hole in One. There’s a stupid guy on the sign golfing using a donut instead of a ball. Dumbest thing ever.”
Kalila laughed.
“There’s also a small hotel clear on the other side and a dry cleaner. Sam’s, I think.”
Kalila nodded. “Okay, I know where you mean. A newish looking brick building.”
“Yep. A nice enough place to croak in.” Felicia lifted the cookie to her lips for another nibble; her demeanor somber. “They gave me the royal tour. The place has great windows.”
“Would you rather stay here?” asked Kalila, ignoring the sardonic witticisms.
“Here? At the house?”
“Sure. We were able to keep my mom home. Actually, at my sister’s place.”
“Did hospice help you?”
“Don’t quote me, but if I’m correct, while hospice isn’t around the clock care, I’m pretty sure their services are 24/7 if you need them. But again, this was a while ago.”
“Interesting.”
“You know what? I do remember my mother’s caseworker at the house a lot. There were actually two—one spotted the other.”
Felicia stopped nibbling and placed the remainder of her barely eaten cookie on the wax paper. “In hindsight, do you think your mother’s decision to stay home was the best for everyone or would you have preferred the hospice?”
“Everyone’s needs are different,” explained Kalila. “But yes, in hindsight, I think for my mom at least, being home was the best choice. Besides my siblings, my dad was there round-the-clock. Of course, we tried taking turns spotting him whenever we could to give him time to rest.”
Kalila had been close to her mother and had taken her death extremely hard. For quite some time afterward, depression had set in, accompanied by a series of risky life choices; many of which merged into dangerous results.
“Her team—I include her doctors and nurses—they were all great,” confided Kalila. “Incredibly supportive. They taught us what we needed to know to take care of mom and keep her as comfortable as possible. They were even with us when she—” again, Kalila felt compelled to search for another word in place of dying. “Passed.”
“Ah, yes, well, I’m afraid any extended family is either long gone or far away, and Melvin isn’t exactly equipped to carry that load on his own.”
“I understand,” Kalila nodded, but her mind had already begun formulating another idea. But she’d wait to speak with Ruth first, not wanting to get Felicia’s hopes high if she couldn’t come through. “Does Melvin understand what’s going on?”
“To some extent. Ruth’s been explaining it to him a little at a time. I tried to but couldn’t figure out a way to explain it without scaring him to death. He just doesn’t do well with change.” Feeling mildly winded, Felicia gasped, trying to catch her breath.
Kalila gripped the chair arm, remembering how her mother had also strained taking her last breaths. Each one harder than the last.
“I’m not sure Melvin understands even now,” said Felicia. “I didn’t know how to explain it to him, so I let him keep using the sleep analogy. Not the brightest move, trust me. For weeks, he just kept asking over and over again when father would wake up. Broke my heart. I sure dropped the ball on that one big time.”
“It’s not easy to describe. I know I haven’t done the greatest job explaining anything to Hamza.”
“I assume he’s still taking his dad’s death pretty hard?”
“Oh, for sure. For a while, he barely spoke to me. I think my son blames me.”
“Oh, I doubt that. Children just need time to process.”
