My husband and I met in Iran, both converts to Islam and there to study Islamic theology. We came back to the UK and had children amid a struggle to find our place in society with each other and individually as Muslims.

Having children brought up a lot of issues for us. How do we raise them in a faith for which we have no family upbringing ourselves, no example to look to? We were both ‘western’. There was no reason to adopt another culture – why bring our children up in a version of Iranian or Arab culture that didn’t necessarily resonate with our faith or our hearts? Identity was a struggle for us both.

For this reason and many others private to ourselves we separated. It was a long hard road, and I went through a period of extreme anger and bitterness toward God. Amid this crisis of faith I needed to have a good look at my belief in and love for God and eventually returned to Christianity.

After years apart my husband went on Hajj, something he’d always longed to do. Part of the process of pilgrimage is to seek forgiveness for past sins and sort out one’s affairs as if preparing for death. When you return, you return cleansed and ready to begin life afresh.

One of my husband’s companions on the Hajj told me he had resolved to move closer to me and to our children and build a better relationship with them. For reasons very painful to him, he had distanced himself from them but was now determined to show them his love.

Unfortunately he never got the chance. A chronic illness was revived by the rigours of the Hajj and he returned very sick. On the very day he had an appointment with his doctor he was found dead in his room. His prayer mat was out, the Quran next to him, and he was sitting in his chair facing Mecca.

His father had phoned to speak to him and while waiting to speak to his son heard all the shouting and chaos as his death was discovered. His father was not told straight away, with middle eastern sensibilities those that found him were reluctant to say what happened and instead said he was ill. Eventually the chaos was worked through, police and ambulance services phoned etc.

I have to say his community really rallied round. His companion on the Hajj and teacher for many years paid for the funeral and made arrangements, something for which the family were grateful as we knew my husband would have wanted it that way - though we were concerned for the expense involved, especially his father. His father wanted to do one this one last thing for a son who had led a troubled life in many ways. Although it was meant kindly, it took away some of his father’s dignity. And his father was too proud to insist.

We had to push the authorities along for a swift post-mortem as Muslim custom and law is to bury and say prayers for the dead as soon as possible. As he died close to a weekend we had to wait a little longer. My sister-in-law, her partner, the children and I had to travel to where he had been living to sign paperwork, the death certificate etc and of course attend the funeral. I have to say I was unprepared for the emotions involved in signing the death certificate of a husband from whom I had been separated for years, our children sitting in the other room and his sister sitting next to me.

The community had offered and made arrangements for us to stay with one of them, but we knew this would prove too much. To deal with our grief while considering the sensibilities of another faith and culture was beyond considering, so my father-in-law arranged for us to stay in a hotel. He felt it would be more than he could bear to even come. He was aware that people would have made claims on his son, saying things like ‘He was a brother to me’, or ‘he was like a son to me’, but this was his son not theirs.

The funeral prayers and burial posed their own problems. There was to be noon prayers said first in the mosque and then the prayers for the dead. The family was all put in a separate room and a few women in head to toe black veils came in with us. They didn’t speak English. We had said we wanted to be present when the prayers for the dead were said. When the time came, someone did come to tell us but said there was no room. Characteristic of my time as a Muslim I was impatient with the assumptions being made. The men in our party were non-Muslim and they were obviously keeping women out. This has nothing to do with Islam and I knew it. It was also an affront to common courtesy. We were his family!

I insisted we go in. Room was made for us and respect and honour shown. I couldn’t help thinking that if I had not been there the family would have been excluded. As it happened the women who had been in the room with us followed us in.

Being there for the prayers and seeing how much he was loved and respected by the community was terribly important for our children. It gave depth to his identity as a Muslim for them. Yes he was a bit different, but he was also well-loved. It was important for his sister and I to experience.

The burial had its own ceremonies to be observed. We were each able to throw handfuls of earth and flowers (just handed to us by someone) upon his grave. I think once they realised how involved we wanted to be, and that we respected what was going on, our presence was welcome rather than cause for unease.

Afterwards we went back to the house my husband shared with friends. We had a meal with them, and then had to quickly go through and pack up his belongings: a few clothes, stacks of books, some of his personal writing, a prayer-mat etc. He lived very simply. We passed out some things to his friends and arranged to have some things shipped to us, the rest to be given away.

His teacher and friend who is also an imam, established our right to his belongings (in Islamic law a non-Muslim cannot inherit from a Muslim). I think he was both considering English law and what was humanly correct, despite religious law and I’m sure the impact on our children was his greatest concern. For this, for my children’s sake and that of my father-in-law, I am eternally grateful.

Several prayer meetings were held for my husband; we were only notified afterwards but were thankful nevertheless he was so well thought of.

One of the hardest things for me to deal with was the interest shown in our children. Some of it kindness, though I couldn’t help questioning to myself where this kindness was when he was alive. Why didn’t they encourage and help him to support his children when he was alive? And some of the attention was covetous- ‘potential marriage material’, making me distinctly uncomfortable.

I have to say the community for the most part was kind and supportive and generous. I only mention the down side here because it is better to be prepared, to know when families can push for what they want, and to help communities know what is possible cause for offence, and what areas are important for families in bereavement.