Does Sensitivity Make Us More Aware? Reflections on Loss and Life

It’s midnight, and sleep escapes me. My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, swirling around the idea of sensitivity. Much like a smartphone with an array of sensor features, I wonder—does being sensitive mean we perceive more than others?  

This question has been haunting me recently, especially after the loss of my aunt, my mother’s younger sister. Out of my mother’s seven siblings, five have now passed away. Only my mother and her elder sister remain. Can you imagine the fear gripping my heart? How do I confront this overthinking? Every year, it feels like I lose someone dear. I remind myself that we all belong to Allah Azza Wajalla, but the ache persists.  

As I grow older, my thoughts deepen and multiply. Life feels surreal, almost dreamlike. I struggle to accept how many loved ones are no longer here. Memories of them being young, healthy, and vibrant are still fresh in my mind. Where has the time gone? I yearn for the days of family togetherness, but those moments seem to slip away faster than I can grasp them.  

Each loss leaves behind more than just sorrow—it brings inexplicable experiences, signs that defy logic.  

  • When my uncle passed away, I felt an icy breeze brush the back of my neck early in the morning, despite the still air.  
  • When my mother’s elder sister left us, I heard a voice call her daughter-in-law’s name loudly. I was tutoring her daughter at the time, and only the two of us heard it—her daughter remained oblivious.  
  • Then, when my cousin passed away, I was writing in the living room while my mother watched TV in another room. We were chatting back and forth, but at one moment, her voice shifted into a distinctly male tone. Startled, I asked her to speak again, hoping to confirm what I’d heard. She reassured me gently, “My voice is just the same.”  
  • Most recently, when my aunt passed away last Sunday, I experienced yet another inexplicable moment. After finishing my Maghrib prayer and removing my mukena, I distinctly heard someone call my name. Shaken, I confided in my mother, only to break down in tears when she admitted she had heard a knock on the bedroom wall but chose not to mention it earlier to spare my feelings.  

These signs are undeniable, yet they leave me baffled. Could this sensitivity be a gift from Allah—a way to feel a loved one’s presence before their passing? It’s a thought that both comforts and frightens me.

This sensitivity is not without its burden. I find myself dreading the news of calamity, especially for those I hold dear. My heart yearns only for joyous updates, not grief. But I understand that life is a test, as Allah reminds us in the Quran: 

"And We will surely test you with something of fear and hunger and a loss of wealth and lives and fruits, but give good tidings to the patient." (Surah Al-Baqarah: 2:155)

Life has taught me many lessons about adulthood. It isn’t just about pursuing childhood dreams or career ambitions—it’s about grappling with loss and finding strength in faith.  

In the midst of this struggle, one verse from the Quran has been a source of solace:

"Gardens of perpetual residence; they will enter them with whoever were righteous among their fathers, their spouses, and their descendants. And the angels will enter upon them from every gate [saying], 'Peace be upon you for what you patiently endured. And excellent is the final home.'" (Surah Ar-Ra’d: 13:23-24) 

This verse soothes my soul, reminding me that our patience and faith will be rewarded, and reunions with loved ones are promised in the eternal abode.  

Through this reflection, I hope to share my journey with you. If you’ve ever felt the weight of sensitivity or struggled to reconcile loss with faith, know that you’re not alone. These experiences are a reminder that life’s trials, though painful, are an opportunity to grow closer to Allah.  

Thank you for taking the time to read my story. May we all find strength in His wisdom and comfort in His promises. 🤍