I don't know what happened. I try to get through but the crowd did'nt seem to give a way for me.
I almost yelled some rude language when I finaly saw what they've been looking at.
An accident, they said. Got hit by a car or something.
My heart races, who's got hit?
Then I saw somebody were lying, somebody's small hand and leg.
People started talking about how he hasn't been moving at all, about he's probably dead.
He was seriously injured.
Then I looked at the person kneeling besides him, it was Mas Ghozali, my husband.
I could hear him saying, he's not dead, he's not dead, as if to react to what people murmured behind him.
Then I know what happened.
It was my son that they're talking about.
Tears dripping fast, I ran, I scream, but everything I did I feel I coudn't get to him soon enough.
Everything is too late.
Is he gone already?
Suddenly, his little head moved, he cried, "Ibu.. Ibu..."
Ya, Allah, alhamdulillah... My son's alive!
And then, I woke up.
Tears and sweat all over me.
I got a fever these last two days.
I cound't sleep well, and now I had this dream.
I remember in my really short dreams, I was saying to Allah,
That if it is Your wish to only give us three wonderful years with my son, then so be it.
It's been the most happy and enjoyful three years, that You've blessed us with.
It was a lot, and I'm not shameful to cry for loosing those years.
But we may not worth another one. And that is for his best that he stay with You.
So it's alright, take him. Take a good care of him, please.
But what felt hurt, when in my dream I could hear my husband saying to me,
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
over and over as if it was his fault while the blame is mine.
I should've take a better care of him, I should've keep my eyes on him all the time.
I'm the one to blame. It's my fault
Please stop saying I'm sorry to me.... It really does hurt.
But I'm awake now.
Luqman is fine, though we both got this nasty flu but we'll survive.
And so is my husband, whose heart always warm up to every child he meets.
While loosing a child is every parent's nightmare, mine is only a nightmare still.
Or perhaps more like a warning to me as a parent,
to become a better mom for him,
to make more laughter than tears coming out of him,
to treasure every day that we live, together.
For we know not, when will it ends.
And when it does ends, hopefully it ends without regrets.
Please be with us, Allah.