The Trials of Life

Last year, on August 25, 2008, at the end of the first day of back-to-school classes, I received a message from my sister-in-law informing me that my father had passed away. Only two and half weeks prior, I had sat with my father in his living room and listened to him inform me of his impending heart surgery. This wasn't the first heart surgery he had, but this one was the one that even his doctors didn't want to see occur. He was 58 years old, diabetic, and the odds were simply not in his favor; in fact, they were stacked against him. For some time before his surgery, he'd suffered from shortness of breath and loss of energy. He could barely walk to the kitchen from his bedroom without feeling winded. His arteries were blocked, and if he didn't have the surgery, it was only a matter of time before he had a stroke or a heart attack.

My father lived in Chicago, and I live in Las Vegas. The day I last saw my father was my on my last day in Chicago during summer break of '08. I stayed longer than usual with my father that day, and we talked about almost everything: Islam, my sisters, my engagement, my future in law school, Sci-fi television. I left my father with a bag of popcorn from Garrett's, and I remember telling him perhaps he shouldn't over indulge- he laughed as though he wasn't going to listen. I hope that he didn't. I hope that he savored every last bite right up until the final buttery kernel at the bottom of the bag. When I left my father's place, I walked myself down the street, down memory lane, and to the bus stop. And, all the while, I knew that this was possibly the last time I would ever walk away from a visit seeing my dad.

When I got the message, it was after school. I had just finished the first day of teaching, and it had gone well. It was my first year teaching freshman, my first day meeting the new students, my first week as a first year student in law school. I had had high hopes for a new beginning, until my world came shattering down. My sister-in-law's voice was low on the recording. She didn't beat around the bush- she just came right out and said it. I needed to get to Chicago quickly. In Islam the bodies of the deceased are to be buried within 3 days. I needed to get a plane ticket. I needed to tell my employers. I needed in inform my law professors. And, I had to call my mom. I knew that she was going to take it hard.

My mother and father never lived together during my lifetime, but they always had a friendship. I never knew when I was young what the exact situation was, and it wasn't until I was older that I got filled in on the story. But, to keep things to the point, I always knew that my mother loved my father, and my father loved my mother. Telling my mother that my father died was like having to her that her best friend was gone. I always seem to be the one who gets stuck passing on the bad news. When my grandmother went into cold blue status, revived, and hung on to the strands of life at the thinnest end of the rope, I had to let my mother know that her mother was on the brink of death. When my older brother was found dead after having fallen over his hotel balcony rail in Saudi Arabia, it was I at the young age of 14 who broke the news to my mother. When my aunt's oncologist clued me in on the fact that my aunt, if lucky, had six months left to live, it was I who carried the message back to my mother. And, so when I made the call to let her know that my father had passed on, I was in familiar territory.

My father's death at the beginning of my first year of law school seem to set the tone for what was to be a new era of trials. Less than a month after my father's death, my four-year engagement with my fiance was called off. Two months later it was back on. The wedding date was set for April. I was married April 4th, and four months later, I called it quits.

I am now in my second year of law school, my fifth year of teaching, and my first year as a divorcee. Last week, I got a letter from the financial aid office informing me that I have reached the federal aid limit, and after next semester, I will no longer be eligible for federal assistance. Again, I felt like my world was coming down. After years of attending school, going through undergrad and obtaining a degree in secondary education, dedicating two years to acquire a masters degree, attending a year in a doctoral program for educational leadership, I have finally found my calling in law school. And, now it seems that my first year in law school, and even my second as I attend it now, might all come to nothing if I can't afford to go on.

I begin this blog as I begin the journey to overcome yet another of the trials of life.