Tengil Tuan Tuan Presdir's
83. Ending
Kiara and Habibie stared as Gibran was crying while hugging Humaira. The man was lying next to the beautiful woman who was now lying weakly. Her tears kept falling but she was silent. There was no sobbing, it was Gibran who was still as unwilling.
"Assalamu'alaikum, Gibran ... Horror ...."
"Wa'alaikumsalam" Gibran said. The man turned his head. He immediately moved when he saw Habibie, Gibran hugged Habibie and again cried in his brother's arms.
"Here comes the wainailaihi rojiun, you are strong Gibran. Everything in this world is His. Crying out! It would be sinless to grieve. Take out all the sadness you're feeling right now."
"Gibran countries, Sis. Gibran knows, but look at Gibran's wife!" The man let go of his arms, turned to his wife. "It's been an hour, he's still like that, unwilling to speak, unmoving and unwilling to open his eyes. Please Gibran's wife, brother."
Kiara who was behind her husband rubbed a clear circle from the corner of the eye. The woman approached Humaira, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her hand in front of her.
"Humaira .. congratulations because now you too have become a mother. Ma'am can't say anything. Ma'am is not good at entertaining people, but .. rhido is beautiful. If sincerity is very heavy, it's okay, we do it slowly. You know, you understand better than me. We did lose one baby girl, but there's still a little Gibran to be happy about." Kiara rubbed the top of Humaira's head affectionately.
"I don't know, losing someone we love is painful. But God already has a destiny line for each of his people. Basically, we don't have anything, all of this is just a deposit. It's fine to be sad, but don't be too drawn-out, Gibran junior needs you, Ra."
Humaira's eyelids opened slowly. The woman looked at Kiara with red eyes from crying for too long. Her guilt towards her dead daughter was truly immense. Humaira felt stupid and stupid, he who could not stand still even participated in doing homework. "I'm careless, Ma'am. My son died because I couldn't take care of him. I went back and forth up and down the stairs, but Mas Gibran has often warned." Humaira said it was still with the roar of tears and now her crying voice started to sound quite loud. "I fell, Ma'am. One of my children died because of me."
"Astagfirullah, Humaira. Astagfirullah. Speak, Ra." Kiara directly pulled Humaira's shoulder to hug the woman.
Habibie and Gibran only listened to the conversation of their two women with bowed faces. Both Gibran and Habibie felt very sad about this. Humaira deserved it that way, because of guilt, she must have felt that she had failed to be a good mother, wife, and daughter-in-law, especially Habibie, she had already felt it.
"Humaira .. ask God for forgiveness, Deck. You can't talk like that. Everything that happens in this world is because of God's destiny, don't say strange things. I know you don't want this to happen either. Don't be like that ... Allah, may take your baby girl back because Allah knows better to what extent you are able to take care of the child, Allah loves you, God loves you, God made your baby girl first to heaven because up here is the ability of your baby girl to survive. Ra ... God willing .. Our daughter is happy, the little baby will be waiting for you at the door of heaven."
** ** **
They all cried after the funeral. Humaira, Gibran, Habibie, and Kiara are still there, while Ummi Amelia and Abi Fawas are back with Baby El.
Nothing they said, Humaira was not crying, the woman was now crouching, rubbing the navel of her youngest son who had been called almighty.
"I'm sorry, dear ... I can only take you here. Dinara wait for Mom, baby. God willing, we will meet again. Mas Niscala with Mom, same Dad. Be fine there, son. I love Dad Dinara, I am aware of him, thank you for accompanying us for almost 9 months. I'm saying yes, honey."
Kiara hid her face in the chest of the husband's field. He has been trying to be patient. Kiara had already tried to toughen up, but when she saw a mother separated from her child in this way, Kiara really could not imagine how much pain Humaira was in.
"From Allah, back to Allah," Habibie murmured while rubbing his wife's back.
"Kiara doesn't know, if this happens to Kiara, Kiara can be as strong as Humaira or not."
Kiara nodded. The woman only realized one thing when everyone thought that her life, her family life was a perfect life.
However, after Kiara experienced a lot of unpleasant things, seeing the difficulties of people, Kiara became very convinced that no matter how perfect human life, the human being, they are still God's creatures who have a destiny line against His will.
There is no need to be envious of the lives of others because of the perfection that appears outside. Smiling is not always about happiness, and crying is not always about hurt or sadness.
Envy is a very scary feeling. We always think the lives of others are better and more perfect just because we see them on the surface. This is what makes us less grateful. In reality, everyone must have their own problems, and how the problem can be solved, depends on us who live it. Are we going to surrender to the almighty, or blame the situation? It depends on us deciding.
"Kiara knows one thing Mas Abie."
"What, Honey?"
"What makes us sad, to feel devastated when we lose something is a sense of ownership. We assume that what God entrusts to us is ours, but if we believe that everything belongs to God, it will not be as painful as it is, even if it is a treasure we have worked for, but the real owner is God."
Habibie nodded with a smile. Back to kiss the wife's forehead, proud because now, his little wife is wiser and more mature. "Good girl."
** **
"We're home now, yeah, Deck. Poor Niscala's waiting for us, baby."
Gibran helps his beautiful wife to stand up. However, due to the condition of the wife who returned to limp, the man held Humaira, and Habibie with Kiara also allowed them to walk first.
"InshaAllah .. I promise that I will try to love you completely, Humaira. I won't let you get hurt even if it's just a fingernail."
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The End's.
