The Son I Tried to Take Away

[ummtaalib]

The Son I Tried to Take Away (Part One)

 

True Story (Names and details changed)

 

I was nineteen when Irfan proposed to me. We had known each other since high school. Ours was a love marriage in every sense of the word. We had grown up together, fallen in love when we were young, and by the time he asked me to marry him, I could think of no reason to say no.

 

I thought I knew what marriage would be like. I thought it would be Irfan and me, our own little world, our own home, our own happiness. I was wrong.

 

After our marriage, I discovered that I was not just marrying Irfan. I was becoming part of a family. His parents lived with us, and he had sisters who lived in Australia and visited once or twice a year. Even their short visits irritated me. I had never imagined myself living in an extended family, and I resented almost everything about it. No one came in my way or said anything, but I felt irritated at the fact that Irfan and I were not alone.

 

The irony was that my in-laws were good people. My mother-in-law never interfered in our marriage. My father-in-law never dictated how we should live. They did not shout at me, humiliate me, or demand anything from me. The problem wasn't that they were bad. The problem was that I did not want them there. Full stop. And the biggest problem of all was that Irfan was not only a good husband. He was a good son.

 

Every morning, before he even thought about himself, he would prepare honey water for his parents. When they woke up, he would place their shoes outside their bedroom doors. He would go jogging with his father, then come home, get ready for work and do his parents' laundry. He hugged his mother frequently. She loved him to bits, and I hated that.

 

He checked whether his father needed anything. If his mother called him to get something or take her somewhere he would do so. If his father asked him to accompany him somewhere, he would go. And I hated it.

 

Not because Irfan neglected me. He didn't. He was, in many ways, an exceptionally loving husband. He knew my favourite foods and would bring them home for me. He would surprise me with snacks from the shops... Lotus Biscoff, Walkers crisps, M&S croissants, chocolate, and whatever new treat he knew I loved since school days. He took me out to restaurants. He brought me breakfast in bed. He planned little surprises.

 

Every few months, whenever he had five days off together, he would take me somewhere. Turkey. Italy. France. Jordan. Morocco. Spain. He wanted me to see the world. He wanted me to be happy.

 

But I wasn't. Because every time I saw him doing something for his parents, I felt as though something was being taken away from me. I didn't understand then that love isn't a pie that becomes smaller every time someone else receives a slice. I thought if his mother got more of her son, I must be getting less of my husband.

 

So, I began interfering…

 

If his mother called him and wanted him to take her somewhere, I would suddenly say, "I need to go to the pharmacy." Or, "I have to go to my mum's, hurry up." And Irfan, being the gentle husband he was, would tell his mother, "I'll take you tomorrow." I made sure tomorrow never came.

 

In the mornings, I started saying, "Let's exercise together." He would say, "I'll go jogging first and then we can do something together." But I would argue. Eventually, after enough arguments and enough emotional pressure, Irfan stopped jogging with his father. Then he stopped doing things for his parents.

 

The son who had spent years serving his parents quietly began withdrawing from them. And instead of feeling ashamed, I felt victorious.

 

Then we had our first child…

 

Three years into our marriage, I went to my mother's house for the delivery. When it was time for me to return, my in-laws were overjoyed. They had decorated the house. They had prepared everything. They had arranged a huge welcome gathering. They were excited to welcome me and their grandson home.

I remember walking into that house and feeling the smallest tinge of guilt. But it wasn't enough to change me. I quickly ate with everyone, then excused myself. "I need to rest." I went upstairs. I never came back down.

 

From upstairs, I could hear my mother-in-law speaking gently to the others. "You know how it is with a baby. She must be exhausted. She probably fell asleep while feeding him." There was no anger in her voice. No complaint. No accusation. 

Just kindness. And somehow, that made what I was doing even worse.

 

Not long after, I told Irfan, "Now that we have a child, we can't continue living like this. You need to make arrangements for your parents to move." I had never seen him so angry. "You want my parents to leave?" His voice shook. "They have done nothing to you." We argued. Then he said something I would never forget: "This is Mum and Dad's house. If you don't want to live with them, then you move. I'll find us somewhere else."

 

And he did. Within two weeks, he had found a flat close to his workplace in London, where he worked as a solicitor at the fictional law firm Harrington & Cole LLP.

When he finally told his parents, their hearts broke. They cried. I knew why. Irfan was their only son. For years, he had been their companion, their helper, the person they relied upon. And I had slowly convinced him to move away.

 

I remember seeing their sadness. And I remember the shameful feeling I had inside. I gloated. I felt like I had won. When we moved into our new home, I experienced something I had wanted for years: Freedom. 

 

It was just me, Irfan and our little boy, Uthman. No one else. No one moving around the house, while I was having breakfast. No parents in the next room. No sisters visiting. No family obligations. Just my husband and my son.

 

I was happy. At least I thought I was...

 

Reality, however, quickly caught up with me. Some days I struggled to cook. Some days the laundry piled up. Some nights Uthman cried for hours, and I had no idea what was wrong. I was exhausted. But even in my exhaustion, I told myself, "At least I have my own home."

 

Irfan now visited his parents regularly and freely without being controlled. After Asr, he would often go to their house. He went to the masjid with his father. He took his mother shopping. If she needed to go somewhere, he took her. He was becoming the same dutiful son he had always been. And I was furious. I had removed him from the house. But I couldn't remove his love for his parents.

 

Every time he came home from visiting them, I would find something to fight about. My in-laws also visited us once a week to see Uthman. My mother-in-law was a naturally cheerful woman. She smiled constantly. She joked with everyone. She had a way of making people laugh without trying. 

 

She never shouted. She never raised her voice. She never criticised my cooking or my parenting. But one afternoon, during a visit, she looked at Uthman carefully. Then she said gently, "Amina, I think you should have Uthman checked by a doctor. I've noticed he seems uncomfortable when he passes stool. He strains a lot and doesn't seem to be passing properly. Perhaps it's nothing, but I think it would be better to have him examined." that was all. She wasn't interfering. She wasn't diagnosing him. She was simply a grandmother who had noticed her grandson struggling.

 

But I heard it differently. I heard criticism. I heard interference. And I immediately became defensive. Irfan noticed. For the first time in my life, I heard him raise his voice at his mother. "Please don't interfere in our lives." His mother went quiet. I should have stopped there. I should have realised what was happening. Instead, I began looking for another way to put distance between them. I started telling Irfan that we should move abroad. "Why don't you look for something in Dubai? My uncle and his family are settled there. They can help." 

 

Then one of his colleagues mentioned Qatar. "Imagine it," I told him. "Just us. A fresh start. A better life. "Eventually, he found a position with a fictional international law firm in Doha. He applied. Three months later, the acceptance letter arrived.

 

I remember the day it came. It was one of the happiest days of my life. I thought I had finally won. Uthman was about nine months old when we moved to Qatar. The company provided us with a furnished apartment and a car. My in-laws were devastated. Their only son was moving to another country. They tried to be happy for us, but I could see the sadness in their faces…

 

To be continued…

 

Jamiatul Ulama (KZN)
Council of Muslim Theologians

[ummtaalib]

The Son I Tried to Take Away (Part Two)

 

True Story (Names and details changed)

 

At first, Qatar felt wonderful. Then reality began to settle in. Irfan left for work in the morning and returned in the evening. If I needed groceries, I had to arrange a taxi and take Uthman with me. If Uthman needed a doctor, I often had to manage it alone.

 

One day I told Irfan that Uthman needed to be seen. "Take him," he said. "I'll come as soon as I can." So, I took him. The doctor ordered tests. Then more tests. Weeks passed. Then more weeks. For nearly a month, we lived in anxiety.

 

Finally, the doctor explained that Uthman needed an operation. There was a problem with the passage through which he passed stool, and it needed to be enlarged so that he could pass properly. I broke down. I cried uncontrollably.

 

The doctor reassured me that it was a relatively small procedure, but all I could see was my baby lying on an operating table in a foreign country. I called Irfan immediately. He didn't answer. I called again. Still nothing. When he eventually came home, he found me crying. "What happened?" I could barely speak. I told him what the doctor had said.

 

He immediately became worried. He made wudu. He prayed salah. Then he raised his hands and made dua for our son. Afterwards, he messaged his parents and asked them to make dua for Uthman.

 

And then he said something that shook my entire world. He looked at me and quietly asked, "Amina, do you think Allah could be testing you with your son?” I looked at him. He continued, "Do you remember how you felt about my parents? How you tried to keep me from them? How you stopped me from taking care of them? How you didn't want them seeing their grandson?"

 

I began crying. Then he said words I will never forget: "Do you think Allah is showing you what it feels like when someone is separated from the child they love?"

 

My heart broke. For the first time, I saw everything clearly. I remembered my mother-in-law's tears. I remembered my father-in-law's silence. I remembered the welcome they had prepared for me. I remembered my mother-in-law making excuses for me when I disappeared upstairs. I remembered how happy they had been to become grandparents. I remembered how I had secretly celebrated their pain.

 

And suddenly I understood. I had not simply wanted a separate home. I had tried to take a son away from his parents. I had tried to make his parents less important to him. And then I had almost succeeded. I cried until I couldn't cry anymore. That night, I made tawbah. I asked Allah to forgive me. 

 

Then I sent a message to my mother-in-law and father-in-law. I asked them to forgive me too. I didn't make excuses. I didn't say, "I was young." I didn't say, "I was overwhelmed." I didn't say, "I only wanted privacy." I simply told them that I had wronged them. Then came the day of Uthman's operation. 

 

Irfan and I sat outside the theatre in a foreign country, frightened and helpless. I remember looking at the doors. I remember thinking about my son. And I remember making a promise to Allah: "Ya Allah, if You give my son shifa, I will go back to the UK with my husband. I will return their son to them. I will not stand between them and their grandson again."

 

The operation was successful. Alhamdulillah. But our journey wasn't over. Uthman required extensive aftercare. He had a bag attached to his stomach to collect his waste, and we had to learn how to care for him properly and change it. For six months, our lives revolved around his recovery.

 

And during those six months, I changed. Not because I suddenly stopped loving my husband. Not because I stopped wanting my own home. But because I finally understood that wanting boundaries is one thing. Trying to destroy a bond between parents and their child is another.

 

When the doctors finally told us that Uthman was well enough to travel, we returned to the UK. And I kept the promise I had made to Allah. I went back to my in-laws' home. But this time, I didn't walk through their door with resentment. I walked through it with gratitude.

 

I hugged my mother-in-law. I hugged my father-in-law. And when I saw them holding Uthman, I realised something that had taken me years to understand I had spent years thinking that my in-laws were standing between me and my husband. They weren't. I was standing between my husband and the people who had raised him.

 

And when I tried to take their son away from them, I didn't make my marriage stronger. I only created pain.

 

Advice to Every Daughter-in-Law

 

To every woman who is about to marry, or who has recently married, I want to say this:

 

It is completely understandable to want privacy. It is understandable to want your own space. It is understandable if living with in-laws is difficult for you. 

You are allowed to have feelings. You are allowed to struggle. And sometimes a separate home is genuinely the healthiest arrangement for everyone. But there is a difference between asking your husband for a home of your own and trying to separate him from his parents.

 

Your husband can love you deeply and still love his mother. He can bring you flowers and still buy groceries for his parents. He can take you on holidays and still sit beside his father in the masjid. He can bring breakfast in bed for you and still love and do things for his mother. He can buy your snacks and still prepare his mother's morning drink.

 

His love for them does not mean there is less love available for you. Don't turn your husband's love for his parents into a competition. You do not have to become their daughter overnight. You do not have to pretend that every aspect of living with extended family is easy. But don't make it your mission to make your husband choose.

 

And please, never use children as weapons. I repeat don't make their grandchildren tools you use against them. Allah tala can test you with those precious children if He wants.

 

Grandparents have a special place in a child's life. If they are loving, safe and respectful, don't deliberately prevent them from seeing their grandchildren simply because you dislike the extended-family arrangement.

 

A grandmother holding her grandson isn't taking anything away from you. A grandfather teaching his grandson isn't replacing you. And a son serving his parents doesn't make him a worse husband.

 

Instead, communicate. Set healthy boundaries. If you need a separate home, ask respectfully. If something your in-laws do genuinely hurts you, speak to your husband calmly. If there is a serious problem, seek wise mediation rather than creating secret battles inside the marriage.

 

And husbands have responsibilities too. Don't dismiss your wife's genuine struggles. Don't expect her to silently endure everything. Protect your marriage while honouring your parents. Give your wife reassurance without asking her to compete with the people who raised you. There can be room for everyone.

 

Most importantly, remember that parents do not remain with us forever. One day the house that once felt crowded may become painfully quiet. The mother-in-law whose calls irritated you may no longer be there to call. The father your husband used to accompany to the masjid may no longer be waiting for him. And the grandparents whose visits once felt inconvenient may become memories your children wish they had more of.

 

I learned this lesson much later than I should have. I thought I was fighting for my husband. In reality, I was fighting against his parents. And I thank Allah that, through the most frightening chapter of my life, He opened my eyes before it was too late.

 

May Allah forgive us for the times we allow jealousy, insecurity or resentment to make us unjust. May Allah place love between husbands and wives, mercy between parents and children, and wisdom between in-laws. And may Allah teach us the difference between setting a healthy boundary and breaking a family bond.

 

Because sometimes the person we are trying to push out of our marriage isn't our rival at all. Sometimes they are the people who gave us the person we love.

 

Jamiatul Ulama (KZN)
Council of Muslim Theologians