Pak Mat was my late father's friend. The Prophet Muhammad m.p.u.h had said that among the qualities of a mukmin is that he carries on the relationship with the friends of his parents after they had passed away. Pak Mat was practically imprisoned within his house. To venture further is too much of an effort for his ailing condition. We visited him on the second day of Hari Raya and he seemed very happy to see us.
I got some very touching responses that I could not resist putting it down here. I hope they don’t mind.
From GREG: I like the thought of continuing a parents relationship after they have passed. Today would have been my fathers 74th birthday ... perhaps it would be a good way to honor his memory by visiting some of his old friends.
From DREAMCATCHER: You've touched my heart...
My responses are;
To Greg: Do that Greg and the satisfaction in your heart afterwards is very rewarding.
To Dreamcatcher: No heart is too hard to fail to respond to a show of love and respect. The ailing elderlies like Pak Mat have nothing to look forward to. Showing our care and respect make a world of difference.
6 comments:
what a way to share the world. I have never thought this way. Perhaps I shld search for my late ma's friends.
Cekmi, you just have to do it to know what a difference that small gesture bring to your life.
We passed that way maghrib time.. in our hurry.. and could not locate the house. Will try again next time there. Will, before it is too late.
Thanks Goo
....Yeah. `Too late' is a club hanging around the corner for lots of things; what we always intended to do but somehow failed to do, what we tried so hard to do but always turned out sour, what we never have the time to try to do until the opportunity passed away, What we never thought should do until the time passed. May Allah protech us from the above and give us opportunities to do what we should do...
Gukita,
Thank you for teh reminder. Such a noble thing to do.
My Goo de la Unc:
THE CHAIRS, THE TABLE AND THE CLOTH WE DINE ON
(my gift to those who are fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, brothers and sisters)
On the chairs, the table and the cloth we dine on,
mama serve a sumptuous meal,
a sumptuous meal made form the hunt that papa kill,
the hunt that papa brought back on heavy old wheels.
On the chairs, the table and the cloth we dine on,
papa carved the luscious veal,
while mama kept our hunger vigil,
so that our little tummies feel no shrill,
till we have the night’s fill.
By the chairs, the table and the cloth we dine on,
papa stood on the site with his pipe lit,
cleaning blood that his hunt has spilled,
and chasing out the winter’s chill,
so that we feel no gritting frill,
after we had our night’s fill.
Round the chairs, the table and the cloth we dine on,
mama walks with a clean white cloth,
cleaning our mouth from filthy froth,
while kissing the sleepy eyes under the brows.
To the chairs, the table and the cloth we dine on,
we haste a bow and a cheery bye,
and wish the leftovers tomorrow they will dry,
that tomorrow again on you we dine,
with the meals mama made so fine,
made from the kills that papa find.
O chairs, table and cloth we dine on,
we trust that tomorrow would also be fine,
there you’ll wait for us to dine,
when we wake after the sun comes to shine.
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