Maria's reflections (sister)
April 5, 2022
by Nazish Ahmed
Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi rajioon
To Him we belong and to Him is our return
Childhood memories
On paper you were my older sister (by one year). In reality, you were anything but! As kids I remember you always being full of energy, often leading me into trouble. Like the time we were sat in the boot of Pap’s estate on some long drive to one of our childhood haunts - one of many parks, Blackpool beach etc. and back in the day before annoying bulky car-seats were mandated. You randomly decided to pull your tongue out and stick one or two fingers up at the driver behind us and I dutifully copied you. The driver gestured back like a cartoon villain shaking his fist and we burst out laughing and carried on doing it. I don’t think there are any photos of you as a kid where you were just sitting still and smiling nicely. Pulling funny faces was your standard pose.
A natural with the kids
But my enduring memories of you will be since our three girls arrived into the world. You were a natural with kids. I’ll never forget your patience and support especially with Liyana, our first-born. I was utterly clueless. A wreck. Feeling sorry for myself, missing Mam, thinking how it would have been so much easier if she was around. You pretty much filled that gap. You taught me how to look out for baby’s cues, to stop obsessing over routines and those ‘new baby’ books. You nudged and nudged me to hug baby more, to kiss her more, to bond with her. To be less anxious. In those early weeks while David was at work, you were there in the middle of the night with me, changing nappies, burping her and rocking her to sleep.
You were Funny Khala (auntie). The girls delighted in seeing you. Your smile was as wide as theirs as you showered them with hugs and kisses and twirls and gifts of all kinds (toys, books, bubbles, balloons, stickers, craft kits) - despite my insisting that they already had too much. You were the most creative in your playtimes with them, they loved being dragged across the room on the giant snake pillow that you made for them. You even made going to the toilet fun and never shirked from wiping their bottoms. You made them giggle the hardest and rest assured they’d sleep well on days when aunty Fizza had visited.
I’m going to miss you not being around the house or on outings with us. I’m going to miss the girls shouting ‘it’s funny khaha!’ as they spy you through the window. I’m going to miss the squeals of delight from the kids as you play with them, while I catch up on cooking or chores. I’m going to miss your attempts at hugging or kissing me before you leave the house, settling for a pat on the head, a low-five or an air kiss instead.
Little Miss Fix-it
You weren’t an academic but you had bags of common sense. You loved to fix things, endless things and though you were small, you were mighty - our Little Miss Fix-it, powered by Pepsi max, nuts or chocolate in some combination. So, I’d reserve all the fixing projects for you. You’d follow instructions loosely, get frustrated if things took longer than anticipated but you’d never give up until the job was done, albeit a bit wonky in places. The sideboard (with the slightly wonky cupboard door), the chest of drawers, the cot that is now still serving Soraya (baby 3), Imani’s toddler bed, Liyana’s big girl bed. The huuuuge doll house. Various gym kit, Liyana’s trike. You’d spot stuff that needed fixing around the house and voluntarily embark on fixing it – tightening the hinge on the boiler cupboard door, unblocking the U-bend, sealing up the crevices of the skirting boards. Painting (somewhat messily) as you confessed you didn’t enjoy it as it requires too much patience to do properly. You were just so bloody handy.
Lover of nature
But of course, the outdoors is where you truly flourished. Only earlier this year, you dug up my driveway and insisted on raking 3 tonnes of gravel (mostly) solo, whilst the neighbours looked on, agog. You stripped the facade of the house of the beautiful but suffocating passion flower plant, even borrowing the neighbour’s ladder to pull out that last stubborn vine. You cleared and de-weeded the back garden and carefully guided me to do the same.
You were naturally gifted with green fingers. Your allotment was your pride and joy, you said it was to carry on our ancestors’ farming legacy. It was also your worst-kept secret! You would share endless photos of your latest projects and produce and ask us not to tell anyone, whereas most of your friends and colleagues already knew! You proudly shared your latest harvests of runner beans, potatoes, Jerusalem artichokes, courgettes and strawberries. The girls loved their days out with you there, picking strawberries and blackberries and petting Oscar the cat.
Boundless generosity
Like a Duracell bunny you’d work or play with the kids, until you collapsed, exhausted. Then you’d do it all over again and still with a smile on your face. You were generous beyond your means. Giving, constantly giving. Toys for the girls, flowers, endless flowers for any (made-up) occasion and generally from ‘Flourish’ or indeed from your allotment – gladioli and artichoke flowers. Gifts that had been gifted to you (usually smellies) you’d pass on to me. Spicy and salty dishes of food often in exchange for some of my kid-friendly bland food. You were involved in a whole host of community-based projects, giving up your own time to create safe, accessible spaces for others in need. You had endless empathy, constantly nudging us to be kind, to say thank you, to give hugs.
My prayer for my Fizza
May Allah SWT have mercy on you. May he grant you Jannah il Firdaus (highest paradise). May He reunite you with our beloved mother and your beloved Ranjha (rabbit). Ameen.
May Allah SWT give us the patience and strength to accept that you are gone, to use your loss as an opportunity to improve ourselves and to emulate all your positive virtues within ourselves and our children. Ameen.
I implore all who have been touched and inspired by Fizza to pray for her and to donate to charity in her name, no matter how small the gift. Please do so here: https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/fizza-ahmed
To Him we belong and to Him is our return
Childhood memories
On paper you were my older sister (by one year). In reality, you were anything but! As kids I remember you always being full of energy, often leading me into trouble. Like the time we were sat in the boot of Pap’s estate on some long drive to one of our childhood haunts - one of many parks, Blackpool beach etc. and back in the day before annoying bulky car-seats were mandated. You randomly decided to pull your tongue out and stick one or two fingers up at the driver behind us and I dutifully copied you. The driver gestured back like a cartoon villain shaking his fist and we burst out laughing and carried on doing it. I don’t think there are any photos of you as a kid where you were just sitting still and smiling nicely. Pulling funny faces was your standard pose.
A natural with the kids
But my enduring memories of you will be since our three girls arrived into the world. You were a natural with kids. I’ll never forget your patience and support especially with Liyana, our first-born. I was utterly clueless. A wreck. Feeling sorry for myself, missing Mam, thinking how it would have been so much easier if she was around. You pretty much filled that gap. You taught me how to look out for baby’s cues, to stop obsessing over routines and those ‘new baby’ books. You nudged and nudged me to hug baby more, to kiss her more, to bond with her. To be less anxious. In those early weeks while David was at work, you were there in the middle of the night with me, changing nappies, burping her and rocking her to sleep.
You were Funny Khala (auntie). The girls delighted in seeing you. Your smile was as wide as theirs as you showered them with hugs and kisses and twirls and gifts of all kinds (toys, books, bubbles, balloons, stickers, craft kits) - despite my insisting that they already had too much. You were the most creative in your playtimes with them, they loved being dragged across the room on the giant snake pillow that you made for them. You even made going to the toilet fun and never shirked from wiping their bottoms. You made them giggle the hardest and rest assured they’d sleep well on days when aunty Fizza had visited.
I’m going to miss you not being around the house or on outings with us. I’m going to miss the girls shouting ‘it’s funny khaha!’ as they spy you through the window. I’m going to miss the squeals of delight from the kids as you play with them, while I catch up on cooking or chores. I’m going to miss your attempts at hugging or kissing me before you leave the house, settling for a pat on the head, a low-five or an air kiss instead.
Little Miss Fix-it
You weren’t an academic but you had bags of common sense. You loved to fix things, endless things and though you were small, you were mighty - our Little Miss Fix-it, powered by Pepsi max, nuts or chocolate in some combination. So, I’d reserve all the fixing projects for you. You’d follow instructions loosely, get frustrated if things took longer than anticipated but you’d never give up until the job was done, albeit a bit wonky in places. The sideboard (with the slightly wonky cupboard door), the chest of drawers, the cot that is now still serving Soraya (baby 3), Imani’s toddler bed, Liyana’s big girl bed. The huuuuge doll house. Various gym kit, Liyana’s trike. You’d spot stuff that needed fixing around the house and voluntarily embark on fixing it – tightening the hinge on the boiler cupboard door, unblocking the U-bend, sealing up the crevices of the skirting boards. Painting (somewhat messily) as you confessed you didn’t enjoy it as it requires too much patience to do properly. You were just so bloody handy.
Lover of nature
But of course, the outdoors is where you truly flourished. Only earlier this year, you dug up my driveway and insisted on raking 3 tonnes of gravel (mostly) solo, whilst the neighbours looked on, agog. You stripped the facade of the house of the beautiful but suffocating passion flower plant, even borrowing the neighbour’s ladder to pull out that last stubborn vine. You cleared and de-weeded the back garden and carefully guided me to do the same.
You were naturally gifted with green fingers. Your allotment was your pride and joy, you said it was to carry on our ancestors’ farming legacy. It was also your worst-kept secret! You would share endless photos of your latest projects and produce and ask us not to tell anyone, whereas most of your friends and colleagues already knew! You proudly shared your latest harvests of runner beans, potatoes, Jerusalem artichokes, courgettes and strawberries. The girls loved their days out with you there, picking strawberries and blackberries and petting Oscar the cat.
Boundless generosity
Like a Duracell bunny you’d work or play with the kids, until you collapsed, exhausted. Then you’d do it all over again and still with a smile on your face. You were generous beyond your means. Giving, constantly giving. Toys for the girls, flowers, endless flowers for any (made-up) occasion and generally from ‘Flourish’ or indeed from your allotment – gladioli and artichoke flowers. Gifts that had been gifted to you (usually smellies) you’d pass on to me. Spicy and salty dishes of food often in exchange for some of my kid-friendly bland food. You were involved in a whole host of community-based projects, giving up your own time to create safe, accessible spaces for others in need. You had endless empathy, constantly nudging us to be kind, to say thank you, to give hugs.
My prayer for my Fizza
May Allah SWT have mercy on you. May he grant you Jannah il Firdaus (highest paradise). May He reunite you with our beloved mother and your beloved Ranjha (rabbit). Ameen.
May Allah SWT give us the patience and strength to accept that you are gone, to use your loss as an opportunity to improve ourselves and to emulate all your positive virtues within ourselves and our children. Ameen.
I implore all who have been touched and inspired by Fizza to pray for her and to donate to charity in her name, no matter how small the gift. Please do so here: https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/fizza-ahmed