Holding space for happiness while grieving: Ruba’s Eid al Fitr reflections
March 2026
Eid Mubarak – or “blessed Eid” – to all of those in the Muslim community and to WAY’s Muslim members. We know how difficult it can be to mark occasions like these without your loved one by your side. After sharing her Ramadan story over the few years, South London-based WAY member Ruba, 34, is now reflecting on Eid al Fitr – the celebration that marks the end of Ramadan – and how she holds space for her grief during what is usually a joyful time.
The Holy Month of Ramadan is one of the most significant times of the year for Muslims, where they fast – which involves abstaining from food and drink from sunrise to sunset each day – and use the month as an opportunity to maximise their prayer and spirituality. The end of Ramadan brings Eid al-Fitr, where families and communities gather to celebrate completing a month of fasting and reflect on how they can learn from the month to improve their faith practice throughout the rest of the year.
I lost my wonderful husband, Aqeel, in late 2020 when he was just 33 years old. I was 29 and our daughter, Zainab, was only 20 months old. Like others in our position, our experience was deeply devastating. Ramadan and Eid have always been particularly difficult, being family-oriented occasions where our loss is often felt even more deeply than usual.
Eid reflections
Over the last couple of years, I have documented much of my Ramadan journey and how embarking on the month can be an extremely painful reminder of my loss. Now, in writing about Eid, I am able to reflect on my journey through the Holy Month to its completion. This is much like the bigger grief journey we are all going through – whereas previously, milestones were daunting before they even started (the idea of surviving my first, second or third Ramadan without Aqeel was unthinkable), now they are less scary and I am more measured and reflective when I approach them.
Almost six years on from Aqeel’s passing, I feel like I can now make the most out of the month of Ramadan and eventually commemorate the day of Eid in a way that holds the pain of Aqeel’s absence, a still visceral reality at times, in the warmth of what is an uplifting occasion.
The co-existence of grief and joy
As grievers, we unknowingly develop the ability to hold space for both our deep grief at the loss of our person, alongside the continuous moments of joy that life can bring.
By its very nature, Eid is a joyous occasion. The word “Eid” literally means festival or celebration in Arabic and “al fitr” means breaking fast. It is a celebration of the end of the month of Ramadan, a period of fasting and restraint, and like many occasions in the Islamic year, comes with its own traditions – wearing your best outfits to the mosque for communal prayers, sharing gifts and spending time with family. It is a day to celebrate and feel proud of your achievements throughout the month of Ramadan, where daily fasting and increased prayer can be both physically and mentally exhausting.
Eid is therefore an objectively happy occasion, yet still one in which the absence of our person is felt deeply – a perfect example of the grief/joy juggle we face as grievers. As we all learn on this journey, we can hold space for both of these emotions without one negating the other. It is possible to feel happy and joyous at the world around you, yet at the same time feel desperately sad that your person isn’t here to share the joy with you.
What Eid means to me today
Eid looks completely different to me today than it did before my loss. It is devastating to mark this day without Aqeel and I always find myself a sobbing mess, particularly during communal Eid prayers where I am yet again reminded of the passage of time and of just how long he has not been here to enjoy this day with us. Aqeel and I only managed a small handful of Eid days together and, whilst they were always a pleasure, we desperately wanted the chance to celebrate more and indeed took for granted that we had more to come.
I have learnt though that this devastation doesn’t take away from my happiness – if anything, it actually adds to it. Going through a loss of this magnitude makes you appreciate what is around you and what a privilege it is to be here. For me on Eid day, it’s our daughter Zainab’s excitement, our decorations at home, our glittering mosque outfits and the personal pride that comes with completing another Ramadan. I would never have thought I could feel this level of gratitude when I was just a couple of years out of my loss, but now I know that I can.
Coming at the end of Ramadan, Eid al Fitr is a symbol of perseverance, achievement and wholesome success. To me, this resembles the journey of grief where, despite our ever-painful loss, we are able to learn through the passage of time what a blessing it is to be here to tell both our story, and the story of our person.
Thank you so much to Ruba, who is a member of WAY’s Cultural Diversity Working Group, for taking the time to share her story.
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