I saw my dad die, here’s what I’ve learned

and why you don't need to dramatize nor romanticize death as a muslim

Three years ago, I saw my dad exhaling his last breath.

I’d always been very close to my father. He felt like one of the biggest blessings in my life compared to how many people from my culture would describe theirs (aka very strict, narrow minded or struggling to communicate mindfully). He trusted me more than I trusted myself, would always wake up to drive me at the airport for a very early flight even if I told him I could take the public transport or surprise me with a craving I’d randomly mentioned once, just because he loved to see us smile. He was a man of words, my mom’s best friend, an amazing son and brother. Everyone thought he was confident, hardworking, trustworthy and generous but only a handful knew how sensitive and affectionate he was.

Needless to say, I miss him terribly.

You might be wondering what happened. Well, a little over a year after his diagnosis, he lost his battle against colon cancer; This is something that many people would say, but I actually never describe him passing away like that, because he didn’t lose anything.

Rather, it was simply the deadline Allah had chosen for him in this lifetime, the time He thought was the best for him to leave this dunya, the last page of this chapter but not the whole book of his story.

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Was I ready for this?

If you would have told me five years ago that I would watch my dad leave this world, I would have never believed you. I mean, you think about your parents dying someday for sure, but don’t expect to actually see them die.

So clearly, I didn’t think I would be capable of experiencing that or getting through it afterwards - but he did.

A few weeks prior, as his doctor told him the chemo had become pointless, he called me from the hospital. The latter also called me to let me know about the news, but it wasn’t until I got my dad on the phone that I broke into tears.

I was a mess but he sounded so composed and calm. “Hey. It’s going to be okay, don’t cry. This is how life goes my dear. You are strong, we are strong. I’m very tired from this to be honest. Allah is with us, do not worry. I’ve accepted that I’m going to die, all I ask is that I do not suffer, for Allah to forgive me for my shortcomings, and for you to take care of your mom and your sister.”

He’d already been so patient through the illness, never complaining about how painful, both mentally and physically it was. In fact, even when he got the news that he had cancer and the doctor asked him if he had any question, he peacefully said “I don’t have any, I will pray, fight and hope I get through this so I can hopefully witness my daughters get married someday” (I know, brb crying).

Maybe he hid how scared he was so we wouldn’t be even more worried than we already were, I’m not sure. But what i’m certain of is that him going through such a hard disease before passing away was one of the greatest reminders Allah could give me in this lifetime.

Death isn’t as bad as you think

The last day of his life could have been worse. We didn’t get a chance to talk to him between the time his agony started and the time we arrived at the hospital where he was asleep until the end. I’d spent the whole night praying for a miracle next to him, and remember my aunt coming to me, saying the nurse was worried about me being in denial.

The thing is, I was asking Allah to wake him up because He is capable of anything, but when the doctor told us it was over, it didn’t feel like a defeat. At some point, it was just me and him in the hospital room, and I was looking at him, reminiscing of how good of a father he was, but also, how he handsome and at peace he looked.

I would have never imagined death could look like this.

His skin was glistening and his face relaxed. Alhamdulillah, he didn’t have to go thought the horrible pain anymore, but it also seemed like Allah was given me a sign that I didn’t have to worry.

Don’t get me wrong; only Allah knows and chooses what our final destination is, and I pray my dad gets in the highest level Jannah (for all of us). But He also gave us so many information about what happens next that it makes facing death much easier when you truly think about it.

In this this year Yaqeen Institute’s series The Other Side, Dr. Omar Suleiman tells us about the barzakh and one of the things he mentioned as a good indicator of the condition of the ones who are living there now is how people talk about them in this dunya, specifically if they mention all the good they did when they were alive.

So many people were touched and gathered for my dad. Everyone, including people we didn’t even know, shared how generous and helpful he was. Allah also made it easy for us to fly the body from Paris to Algiers where he wanted to be buried, in the same cemetery as his parents. It was so heartwarming, almost as if this dunya, which wasn’t always kind to him, was recognizing its mistake, showing how Just Allah is.

I also felt very grateful that I didn’t have any regrets: there hadn’t been a day that we didn’t tell each other “I love you”, he didn’t wait for specific occasion to tell my sister and I how proud he was of us and in the few times we had arguments, we’d always both apologize.

I also realized how much of a blessing it was that my dad went through this, as illness is a way to expiate our sins and we should all prefer to do so here rather than in the Hereafter, but is also a “chance” for you to be mentally prepared, compared to the shock of losing a loved one in a car accident or attack for example.

Ultimately, through all of this and putting things into perspective, Allah made it easy for me to accept that to Him we belong, and to Him we should return.

Don’t be too attached to this dunya…

Needless to say, the first weeks following his death were awful. Going back to a home where you’ve always lived with him, seeing my mom lose her first love she’d been married to for 30 years… I don’t think there was on salah that I wouldn’t just break into tears in sujood.

It’s so important to not romanticize grief because it is a completely normal and human process. Even Prophet Muhammad ﷺ himself shed tears when he lost his loved ones.

We also all experience it differently—some of us accept loss quickly, while for others, it takes months or even years to fully process. And that’s okay.

But as Muslims, we’re also reminded, over and over again, not to get too attached to this life. Because in the grand scheme of things, this dunya is nothing but a fleeting moment.

The Prophet ﷺ said: What is the example of this worldly life in comparison to the Hereafter other than one of you dipping his finger in the sea? Let him see what he brings forth.

Source: Sahih Muslim 2858

Besides, nothing here truly belongs to us. Not our wealth, not our homes, not even our families. When you leave this world, you literally bring nothing to your grave but your deeds. The brand of car you drove, the titles you accumulated, the money you saved up—none of it will matter.

What will matter is the sincerity with which you worshipped Allah, the kindness you showed to others, and the good you left behind.

Think of the people of Gaza, who are currently experiencing horrors beyond what most of us can even imagine (may Allah grant them sabr and Jannah). They have lost their homes, their families, their children. And yet, what is the one thing they hold onto? Their faith, their belief that no injustice goes unseen by Allah, that if they remain steadfast, what awaits them is beyond anything this world could ever offer. They know how Allah rewards the martyrs, but also, that true life begins after this one.

That’s why deepening your knowledge and connection to Islam is so important: learning to detach from dunya doesn’t mean not feeling pain, but it does mean reminding ourselves, again and again, that this world was never meant to be home. And that if we die as Muslims, if we leave this world with La ilaha illa Allah on our lips, then we have already been granted more than most of the people who have ever walked this earth.

... But make sure you make the most of it

It’s funny because there’s quite a paradox here: despite knowing all of this, we often live as if we’ll be here forever and don’t take death that seriously. It might feel like something that is far from us, that happens to other people, until suddenly, it doesn’t.

See, for a long time, I had this strange thought: I didn’t want to die, but I also didn’t want to grow really old. Maybe you’ve felt the same way. Nowadays, the world feels heavy, hopeless and overwhelming. I mean, even the Prophet ﷺ described it as “a prison for the believer.” and when you see the state of things, it’s easy to think “Why would I want to stay here for ages and witness everything getting worse and worse by the day?”

But going through grief made me realize something: Every new day Allah grants you is an opportunity.

When death feels near—whether it’s yours or someone else’s—you suddenly think of everything you wish you had done differently. The things you regret, the prayers you delayed, the words left unsaid, and in those moments, you beg Allah for more time.

More time to repent. More time to fix things. More time to be better.

But why should it take a loss for us to feel this urgency? If you’re still here, if you woke up this morning, it’s because Allah believes in your ability to do better than yesterday, to grow and worship Him more sincerely, to be of benefit to those around you. We often talk about gratitude in terms of material things, but what about gratitude for time? For another chance?

Honestly, I can’t say this enough but it’s all about balance: not losing yourself in this dunya, but also not taking your time here for granted. Not chasing after things that don’t matter, but also not being passive with the days you’ve been gifted.

Because time is the one thing you can never earn or get back. And at the end of the day, the goal isn’t just to live longer—it’s to live in a way that, when the moment comes, you’re ready to meet Allah.

“Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift — that’s why it’s called the present.”

Eleanor Roosevelt

I truly hope this letter was food for thoughts and not depressing in any way, please let me know!

Again, Alhamdulillah for being Muslim and Allah reassuring us that as long as we hold onto His rope, constantly work on our intentions and place Him in the center of our lives, everything will go well.

And if you recently lost someone, know that you’re in my prayers and that it does get easier.

Love and du’as,

Assia