Nightmares scream with no one there.

The silence after loss is the loudest sound a person can know. It is not the silence of peace, nor the silence of sleep, but the silence that presses on the chest until it feels like breathing itself has become heavy. In the middle of the night, when shadows stretch long and familiar voices are gone, the heart calls out for someone who cannot answer. Nightmares scream with no one there to soothe, no one there to calm, no one there to say, “It was just a dream.” And so the dream lingers, turning into a waking truth that feels endless. Grief is strange like that—it does not knock before it enters, and it never leaves through the same door. It slips into every corner, every memory, every small sound in the house that used to mean “someone is near.” Now those sounds are missing. The clatter of a cup, the echo of a voice, the cough from another room—gone. And in their absence, the air feels hollow. But even in this hollow, the heart continues to beat. It beats in defiance, even when the body feels too tired to carry it. That beating is proof: life insists, even when grief protests. Nightmares scream, but the soul still whispers, “Hold on.” Loss teaches patience in ways nothing else can. Patience when the tears come without warning, patience when memories strike too sharp, patience when people say words that do not land right but mean well. Patience when morning comes, and the weight of the day feels heavier than the night. And in that patience, a quiet strength begins to form. Not loud, not sudden—like a seed pushing through hard soil, reaching for light it cannot see yet. When the pain feels endless, remember that Allah’s mercy is deeper than any sorrow. He does not leave a heart broken without also preparing its healing. He hears the cries no one else can hear, even when they are only whispers inside. “Indeed, with hardship comes ease.” Not always in the way we expect, not always when we demand it, but always in the way we need it most. So when nightmares scream, call back with prayer. Whisper verses that soothe, let the tongue carry what the heart struggles to bear. Say inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un—to remind yourself that nothing is truly lost, only returned. Say Hasbunallahu wa ni‘mal wakeel—to remind yourself that you are not left alone in this trial. Say Ya Allah, give me strength—because strength comes not from within us alone but from the One who never leaves. Slowly, the nights will not be so long. Slowly, the pain will not feel like fire but like a scar, tender yet proof that you survived. Slowly, laughter will return not to erase what was lost, but to honor it. Because to live on, to breathe again, to find joy again, is not betrayal. It is remembrance in motion, proof that love left behind still fuels the living. Nightmares scream with no one there, but you are not truly alone. Angels write your patience, your tears, your whispered duas. And the One who created your heart knows how to mend it, even when you cannot see how.

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