If you have read my previous blogs, you know that I began healing by tending to my spirit, and then slowly turned toward my mind. In the beginning, progress felt almost invisible. There was no dramatic shift, no sudden clarity. But I knew something important: I was trying. And sometimes, trying is the only evidence of strength you have.
During this phase, I became acutely aware of what a grieving mother endures within our culture. The silence. The expectations. The spiritual assumptions. The unspoken pressure to be patient, grateful, composed. I realized I needed to document my journey. Not only for myself, but for the day I might be steady enough to hold another mother’s hand and walk beside her.
I explored different spaces of support. I joined several child-loss groups on Facebook. For some, these communities are lifelines. For me, reading story after story often deepened the ache. Each narrative reopened wounds that were still raw. To this day, I have not shared my own story in those spaces. Protecting my grief felt necessary. If you are considering such groups, choose carefully. What helps one person may overwhelm another.
I also joined a faith-based grief program called GriefShare. It was not specific to child loss, and it was not Muslim-led, yet the compassion within that room was sincere and grounding. Grief, I learned, speaks a universal language. I also connected with a circle of bereaved parents through SUDC Foundation, which supports families navigating sudden unexplained death in childhood. Every resource I encountered, I approached with one intention: to educate myself and to survive with awareness.
Then Ramadan arrived.
Ramadan is a time when Muslims intentionally align mind, body, and spirit. It felt different that year. It felt urgent.
I enrolled in an intensive, cover-to-cover Qur’an program led by Sehrish Tashfeen from Al-Huda Institute. Her central theme was drawn directly from the Qur’an: Do not grieve and do not despair. I remember sitting with those words and feeling as though they were speaking directly into my shattered heart.
I began a structured dua program “Visionaire”. I immersed myself in a Qur’anic series by Nouman Ali Khan. I surrounded myself with the Qur’an constantly.
I had recited the Qur’an before. I had read translations before. But this was different. This time, I was not reading for completion. I was reading for survival.
There is a depth that opens when you approach the Qur’an not as routine, but as refuge. It is difficult to articulate. You will recognize it when you experience it. The verses begin to meet you where you are. They do not erase pain, but they contextualize it. They remind you that grief is not abandonment. That trials are not evidence of divine distance.
All the resources that supported me are listed in the resources section. I have no affiliation with any of them. They are simply part of the path that steadied me. My purpose in gathering them is to bring scattered sources of comfort into one accessible place, so you do not have to search in the dark as long as I did.
Healing did not happen overnight. It unfolded quietly, verse by verse. And sometimes, the only light you need is one ayah that speaks to your brokenness and refuses to let you believe you are alone.
With love,
Umm-e-Shahryar
Mother of Shahryar