Wounds of Relationship

At a wedding, I encountered an old acquaintance. She greeted me warmly, and I sat nearby. From the moment she saw me, it was clear she was delighted. She said she had been wanting to meet me for a long time, expressing a mixture of joy and relief at finally getting the chance.

"How have you been?" I asked.

"By the grace of Allah, I am doing well," she replied. "You know what a widow’s life is like. For fifteen years, I have been living in this world, witnessing its colors and struggles. Alhamdulillah, my children have grown, and I never lacked money. When they were very small, I was young myself, and truly, only one who faces hardship knows what it means. I have three brothers, a sister, and a mother who is a widow as well. My mother’s concern for me has given me strength, but despite having close relatives, they have hardly cared that I became a widow, left to fend for myself."

She paused, her voice tinged with both pain and acceptance. "Help rarely comes from those you expect it from. A husband is like the roof over a woman’s life, and when that roof collapses, one can imagine the suffering she endures. Our society worships only the rising sun—it values only what brings personal gain. I did not remarry for my children’s sake. In hindsight, that was fortunate, because Alhamdulillah, my children are now educated and hold respectable positions. I have a son and a daughter, and now, their marriages are approaching. When I was struggling, I wished my siblings would support me, but their help was minimal—they were often like strangers. Now that my children are grown and my son handles things efficiently, they occasionally inquire about our well-being. But even with a house and financial security, such comforts cannot erase a widow’s pain. Sorrow is something one must endure personally."

Hearing her story, I replied, "Be grateful for what you have. If you lacked the means to sustain life, the hardships would have been unimaginable. At least now, with resources and security, you are not entirely at the mercy of others. In today’s world, many would not even help financially. Your relatives now act politely because they know you are self-sufficient. Otherwise, life for a widow in this society could be extremely harsh."

She nodded, sighing deeply. "There was a time when neighbors, knowing someone was in trouble, would help. Brothers and sisters shared each other’s joys and sorrows. But now, things have changed. Blood relations or not, few inquire. One cannot expect genuine concern. This world is transactional; people only approach where there is benefit. Even close siblings avoid involvement if it offers no advantage. Yet, I must say, despite this selfishness, there are still people with noble hearts, grace, and sincere love. They meet others purely to support and care, without expecting anything in return."

Her words brought tears to her eyes. I did not want her to cry on a joyful occasion, so I gently changed the subject.

Still, her story lingered in my mind. I thought about the people who truly care in times of need, and the few remaining instances of selfless love. Even in a world driven by selfishness, there are those who act with generosity, empathy, and integrity. She reminded me that when someone suffers—losing a spouse, enduring loneliness, or struggling financially—it is a moral responsibility of others to offer what support they can. Life is brief; we should try to ease each other’s suffering, alleviate pain, and extend kindness wherever possible. Every gesture, no matter how small, can become a lifeline for someone navigating the harsh realities of the world.

Her story was a powerful reminder that while human relationships may often fail, true compassion still exists, and the wounds inflicted by others can be softened by the few who act with sincerity.