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Do I need my hijab in heaven?

Debra J. White

    Born during the Cold War, in the paranoid days of the red menace, fear of “the bomb” was ever present. Fallout shelters in big city apartment building basements like mine were as common as vermin and lack of heat in winter. That was my era, a time without cell phones, Instagram, Google, 5G or Starbucks. A virus made you vomit for a few days and an app was the beginning of a word. On line meant you waited on a line, sometimes long, to get into the movies. I grew up without taking a selfie. Hard to believe, isn’t it? Not only did children from my era survive but we even thrived.
    Now, at the age of almost 69, I sometimes think of my own demise. A pedestrian car accident almost did me in on 1/6/94 but I pulled through, albeit with lingering problems from being whacked around by a passenger van. The diagnosis of traumatic brain injury has followed me around ever since. I now face problems associated with age like aching bones, wrinkles, and liver spots. Sometimes, I’m cranky. Modest exercise and a vegan diet keeps me fit and trim but the inevitable is coming, sooner or later. When? Maybe I’ll head to the big house tonight, after dinner, hopefully once I’ve had my decaf coffee. I’ve often wondered what heaven is like, assuming of course that’s where I’m headed. Notwithstanding a slew of mistakes earlier in life, some of which I prefer not to mention, I turned out to be a decent human being. On judgement day, I can say I atoned for my sins and more than made up for past transgressions. I hope it gets me a good place in the hereafter.
    I often wonder what the beyond will be like. I guess we all do. Will there be ample sun to improve my pasty skin? I avoid the blistering Arizona sun to escape skin cancer. What about toiletries? Unless I brush my teeth in the morning, my breath probably smells like that of a camel. I’m testy if I can’t shower at least once a day. Does heaven have laundry facilities? I generally won’t wear an outfit more than once. Since we can’t pack a bag to bring with us, what do we wear in the hereafter? A smart pair of shoes can make or break an outfit. I can’t wear just any old rag. What about mirrors to apply make-up? A girl has to look stylish. I converted to Islam in 2015 and wear a hijab, also known as a headscarf. Will I need to cover my gray hair in heaven? It’d be a shame to leave behind three drawers full of colorful hijabs that I’ve collected, either as gifts or purchases. My head would feel naked without at least a hat or some kind of covering.
    Then I wonder about boredom. What’s there to do in heaven? Movies? Shopping? Restaurants? Bowling? The 1994 car accident ended my working career so I found new life as an all-around volunteer to stay connected to the world. The alternative was to sit home and watch television. No way. Not me. I won’t care if there’s no television but I’d miss the radio. I love music, all kinds of music. I listen to the radio every day, a steady stream of soothing instrumentals. Maybe all those deceased musicians and singers entertain all us newcomers once we arrive.
    I wonder about reading. I cannot bear to be without books, magazines and newspapers. Let heaven be full of libraries and bookstores. Without reading material, I am nothing. I enjoy sitting in a café, sipping a cappuccino and turning the pages. How can I live without one of my favorite pastimes? I can live without YouTube but not the public library.
    I grew up in New York City. Shopping back then was fun because New York City was loaded with department stores. I mean loaded. I worked in two of them as a teenager. Shopping on Amazon can’t compare to walking through the aisles and trying on clothing in department stores like Bloomingdales, Alexander’s, Abraham and Strauss, Macy’s, Mays, Franklin Simon, Bonwit Teller, B. Altman’s, Sak’s Fifth Avenue, Orbach’s, EJ Klein’s, Gimbel’s, May’s, and others, nearly all of which have been edged out because of the internet. Another giant on line behemoth that I shall not name (and do not like) also added to their demise. Furniture sections in department stores were handy places to snatch a bit of warmth on frigid afternoons. Sit on the sofa for a few minutes, pretend you’re interested in buying. When the salesmen became pushy, either move on or smile and ask for coffee and a bun. On a Saturday morning in New York City, I’d meet my friends at our starting place, which was Bloomingdales on East 59th Street on Manhattan’s East Side. Alexander’s, which hawked cheap and tacky clothes, was across the street. Most of us, including me, couldn’t afford Bloomie’s prices but it was interesting to see how the other side lived. Wow, affluent women shelled out big bucks for even small items like bras and panties. I guess if you could live in a Park Avenue penthouse with a maid to cook your meals and a butler to pick up your dry cleaning then you could afford pricey underwear. After Bloomie’s, we headed down Fifth Avenue, a main street choked with stores, big and small. Our bulky paper shopping bags (no plastic at the time) filled up with purchases as we squeezed ourselves among throngs of shoppers, resting our tired feet for lunch at a coffee shop somewhere along the way. Most shopping ended on W. 34th Street, home to world famous Macy’s and a few lesser-known stores like Gimbels. Only the unfortunate shopped on 14th Street, then known as the armpit of NY. Is there shopping where dead people go? Have all the defunct department stores been resurrected?
    The real estate market in heaven will be unimportant. All those brokers with no commissions and private equity firms without profits will be faced with a dilemma. How will they survive? I was forced out of a comfortable, cozy trailer park because a private equity firm bought our place. To maximize their profits, they squeezed us for annual increases that reached beyond my disability income. I’ll never forget the day I moved out. Tears welled up in my eyes as the movers loaded the last box on the truck. I said goodbye to a place where I felt at home, at ease. In heaven, there are no impossible rent increases that drive people towards moral bankruptcy including depression or suicide.
    In the beyond, there will be no more hefty bills to pay. Finally! No more threatening past due letters from the large banks or corporate owned hospitals with ominous terms on what they would do if I didn’t pay up. Surviving on a disability income taught me how to squeeze a nickel until the buffalo gasped. I stretched shampoo, dish soap, etc. by watering them down. Day old bagels taste just as good as fresh. I look sharp in thrift shop clothing. I felt envious sometimes when I overheard strangers talk about how they pitched in and paid for a disabled family members’ wheelchair. How lucky for that person. No family member offered to buy one for me. Then again, they didn’t send me help after the accident when I was penniless and unable to work. Who’s holding a grudge? Thankfully, I was blessed with many friends who never left me stranded. Never. I’ll miss them once I’m gone and their never-ending support and generosity. They were true gifts. Once in heaven, I’ll be free of disability so I won’t need a new scooter every few years. And finally I hope I never have to live next to a noisy neighbor or stomp on a cockroach.
    What about the dogs in my life that crossed over the Rainbow Bridge? That’s what we pet owners say when a beloved dog or cat dies. The Rainbow Bridge is doggie and kittie heaven. I miss all the dogs I rescued or adopted. Each one was special, even if they destroyed my shoes, shed just a little too much or cost me a bundle in vet bills. They added so much love and joy to my life. I couldn’t imagine a life without them. I hope I see them again. If I kick off before my dog Whitley, I hope someone will take care of him properly and not force him to live in the backyard. He’s a housedog, not used to living outside. Would you want to live outside?
    Heaven, I’ll be there, but when? I earned my final resting place despite a rocky start. I’ve done everything to guarantee passage to Jannah, the Islamic term for heaven. I’ll miss my friends, the sisters from my Quran group, the volunteer work that uplifted me, and all the pets I loved. Heaven surely must have unexpected surprises for someone like me. Too bad we cannot communicate once with our friends once we’re gone and tell them what it’s like. There’s no email, fax, or texts from the beyond. At least not yet. Maybe someone will develop an app for that.

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