God's decree is inevitable for everyone, and He afflicts whom He wills among His servants. The true believer must exercise patience and seek reward from God, and praising God is a duty for whatever is decreed and ordained. There is no greater loss after losing a father than losing a mother; it is pain and sorrow, separation and stumbling. Losing both parents or one of them deprives you of the door of their prayers and the warmth of their connection. A mother's prayers are lights that illuminate our path and grant us patience and security. Since the passing of my great mother, the elderly Khadra bint Habbash Al Saree', I have been in a state of confusion; the confusion of losing the healing balm, the door of goodness, security, and complete reassurance.

How great is the loss of a mother and how difficult its impact! She is the river of love and giving, the refuge after God. Before her, I lost my father, the noble and esteemed sheikh, a man of high rank and status, whose fragrant legacy has continued to be mentioned in gatherings and forums for over thirty-five years.

I return to say: The mother is the tree of love and tenderness. In losing her, we lose a life of abundance and blessed goodness.

My mother was not an ordinary woman. She was noble and generous, a lover of goodness, who loved God and His Messenger. She possessed high morals and remarkable altruism; she did not put her own interests first, and wished for others only what she wished for herself.

She was compassionate to all who knew her, loyal in her relationships and conduct, pure-hearted, patient in her pain. Her passing grieved her family, relatives, neighbors, and everyone who knew her.

My mother - praise be to God - was abundant in remembrance and gratitude to her Lord. She never harmed anyone with her tongue; rather, her way was tolerance, forgiveness, kindness, and suppressing anger. She died while repeatedly uttering the two testimonies of faith, content with us by God's grace. Her heart was pure, filled with light and abundant goodness.

That tenderness from which we used to draw has gone; my mother is gone, that loving soul who cared for her home and for all the animals she owned, which were objects of her attention, comfort, and happiness.

My mother, whose condolences extended for seven days, with everyone praying for her, grieving, and giving charity on her behalf. My mother, who hoped for God and the Hereafter, is now in the hands of the Almighty, the Beneficent, the Lord of grace and kindness. Praise be to God, first and last, that she has moved on to a generous, merciful, and bountiful Lord.

Here I quote and repeat what the poet Nizar Qabbani said:

"What shall I write about my mother now that she has gone... and how can I explain my sighs and sorrows?" "What shall I say when my hopes are scattered... by storms of grief in the desert of my emotions?" "Shall I let tears paint her image, O my mother... and compose poetry in my grief and consolation?" "Or shall I let my heart go in its anguish... to homes that are no longer my homelands?"

And as we began with praise of God, we conclude with His praise—glory be to Him, the Most High—and with supplication: O God, grant her light and have mercy on that pure body, make her grave a garden from the gardens of Paradise, and gather us with her, my father, and all deceased Muslims in the highest heavens, O Lord of the worlds.