The coffin was plain wood and painted white. After family members took out the deceased and placed him into the grave, scores of men passed back first the lid and then the coffin until one or two of the mourners carried them and placed them in the back of the hearse.

  For this Muslim funeral, the first I’ve ever attended, there must have been over 500 men there. I suspect there was a huge contingent of women there also, but they were segregated in a different locale for most of the day. Kind, warm, caring and friendly, his daughter Adab is a good friend of mine. She mirrors her dad and embodies a lot of his endearing qualities.

  Prayers were offered up at the Al Aqsa mosque before the burial and after, but not at the gravesite. The 100-person (at least) receiving line made for a long day in the hot son.    

I find it difficult to do the ‘sit on your heels’ part of the Muslim Salat prayers, so I usually do not join in, but after the burial and back at the mosque, I gave it a try. Lowering my head to the sacred rug, I got a bit choked up offering up the only prayer appropriate for where I am in my life these days:

  “God, please help me.”

  A prayer on a rug, a kneel in a church, a meditation on a bench, a memory of a time when life seemed so simple and pure. Where and when did it go so dreadfully wrong? The gentleman who drove me up to the burial chose his Muslim faith over Christianity, because of the answers the Muslim has over the Christian. He was not too satisfied with my ‘it’s a mystery’ reply to some of his queries. My new friend had some interesting information about the burial ritual. The deceased is wrapped in a white cloth to match how he was presented to his mother when he was born. They have the funeral so quickly because the deceased needs to be placed in the ground before two angels come and carry his soul off to heaven.

  On August 19, 2016, Mahmoud Ibrahim passed on. He was laid to rest two days later. On August 22, 1988, 28 years ago, my father passed on. He died on a Tuesday and was buried on that Friday. He too was a kind, warm and devout man who genuinely loved God and was genuinely loved by his friends and family. The world (the dunya to the Muslim), however, was somewhat difficult for him. He struggled to make ends meet. He was crushed and confused by the proud and profane who ran our world. Alzheimer’s did him in at age 75. I don’t even like to think of how many times I’ve summoned his graces to finally get my life moving in a more positive and consistent manner, only to drift back to the same old ways. Perhaps a bit of Muslim graces will join in to guide me on my way. Death can certainly make strange bedfellows. My being recently diagnosed with Parkinson’s adds an element of desperation to my need of change.

  And so as this day, August 22, 2016, draws to a close, may the God of Abraham, Moses, Jesus and Mohammed please help me on my way.

  Jim McGovern is a local writer whose stories and op-eds have been published in the Philadelphia Inquirer and other local publications. He can be reached at ‘12stepsforall.com’ or at batesius33@gmail.com. His latest book Inclusion can be purchased through Amazon.com. •