"Looking Up From 6-Feet Under" by Ibrahim E

      July 26th, 2017. I’m 15, I’m at the bottom of a grave, looking up, since that’s the only
way out.
      On July 25th, 2017 my family and I had just finished up eating at the Panera Bread on
Foothill and Fruit st. in La Verne when we got a call that sent us all into an emotionally destructive spiral. The hospital called my mother to tell her that her father, my grandfather, had passed away. So, as anyone else would do, we rushed to the hospital to be by his side, hoping that there was just an ounce of life left in him for us to speak to him one last time. Sadly, it was too late. He had no life left in him. I remember the hospital room being filled with about 10-13 people, all of them were crying and wailing. Meanwhile, I was sitting next to my grandfather, just staring at him, with no emotion whatsoever. This was the first time that I had experienced the death of a loved one and I did not know how to react. I did not know whether I should have been crying, like everyone else, or whether I should have just remained silent, so that I may allow his soul to leave his body in peace. I had remained silent when in the hospital room. However, it is when I returned home that I had allowed all my emotions to truly form their own course and steer themselves. I had gotten home, and I just started to think about him and I was just filled with anger. Not anger towards him, but towards the doctors for letting this happen to him. And towards the evil eye. And towards everything else that was completely out of my

control. I was unable to sleep that night, but for the next few days, the only sleep I got was in fact not sleep at all, for all I could think about was him. He was in my dreams. He was constantly on my mind. He was everywhere I went and I could not escape my emotions. It felt as though my mind and heart were on an emotional and mental lockdown simultaneously. The day after he had passed, his body was to be washed and ready for burial. Being one of the closest men to him, I had attended his washing, however, it is uncustomary for me to go into depth about the washing aspect of the burial. Nevertheless, I had served as one of the witnesses to his washing, and like before, I was completely emotionless. Whether he was dead or not, I could not bring myself to cry in his presence. I refused to allow my emotions to get the best of me in his presence, because he would not have wanted that for me. He used to call me “asad,” which means “lion” in Arabic, only because he felt that ever since I was little I had a strong will. After washing his body and preparing it for burial, we had taken his body to the mosque, so that we may pray ​Salat Al-Janazah,​ a funeral prayer on behalf of him. The prayer hall was filled with about 120-130 people, so much so that there were people praying outside, and in the midst of this sea of people, I had forced mydelf to the front, so that I may be as close to my grandfather as possible. During that prayer, I had heard a few faint sounds of men wailing, as if it was their​ ​father who had died, but again I was holding in my emotions. After the prayer, we had taken my grandfather to the La Verne cemetery, the only local cemetery with a Muslim section, and we had unloaded his body from the van that was carrying him. Once the van had opened its doors, I remember seeing my grandmother just asking to see her husband one last time and looking into her eyes when she asked to see him was like looking into a sea of despair. Justifiably so, seeing as she had just lost the only man that she had ever loved. Once the sea of women had cleared the way for us to carry

the body out of the van, we had begun to carry the body out of the van and towards the burial site.  When we had reached his grave, his body, only wrapped in white, because it is against Islam to bury the dead in coffins, was lowered into the grave. Now came the part that I knew was coming. When burying someone, it is customary for the three closest men to that person to be sent down into the grave with that person and point them in the direction of the Qibla, the direction of Mecca, Saudi Arabia. When the time came, my cousin, my uncle, and I were the three men sent down to point the body towards the Qibla. I had watched my step, stepping carefully down the ladder, and once I had hit the ground and realized that I was in a grave I pretty much lost all feeling in my body, all my senses, and my sense of time. I remember me just standing there when one of the men, the man who performed the washing, was telling me to grab his feet and move them. He told me about three times and it wasn’t until the third time that I processed what he had said. But, when I was in that grave, I couldn’t help but grasp the fact that I’m going to be here one day as well, but there’s not going to be any way out of it. That’s the reason it had taken me so long to respond. Once we had moved the body, we had all climbed a ladder and exited the grave, but when exiting, I could not help but notice all the people around me and all the people looking at me as if I had something they wanted from me. This only lasted for about 10 or 15 seconds, for shortly after, the men proceeded to throw dirt inside the grave, specifically 3 handfuls of dirt per man, as according to Islamic tradition. I had made sure that I threw the first 3 handfuls of dirt, only so that I may escape the sea of men trying to throw dirt as well. This very day had forever changed me. This day made me aspire to be exactly like my grandfather. After this day, I vowed to become the lion that my grandfather saw in me. After this day, there are three simple rules that I live by, which go as follows: love and take care of your

family, protect those closest to you, and never be a coward. After that day, my entire personality changed. At only 15, that day had made me a man. My grandfather had lived every day of his life to the fullest, no matter what circumstances, and I think about that often and whenever I feel sad, I remember that he had to go through much worse than me and he stayed strong, so there is absolutely no reason as to why I should not.