Sunday, the day before his passing.

The Prophet ﷺ lay in his modest home in Madinah, fever ravaging his body. He could barely stay conscious.

During a brief moment of clarity, when the fever subsided, he turned to Aisha (RA): "How much money do I have?"

She searched their home and returned with a small pouch. Seven silver coins. Maybe $15-20 in today's money.

This was the most powerful man in Arabia.

He held the coins, transferring them from palm to palm, his face heavy with concern.

"What will I say to Allah if I meet Him with these?"

He placed them back in her hands. "Give them to the poor now."

Before she could respond, the fever returned. He fell unconscious.

When he woke later, his first words: "Have you given it to the poor?"

Aisha (RA), aching at his suffering, hadn't left his side. "I will do it later," she said, tending to him.

The fever overcame him again.

He woke. Same question: "Have you given it to the poor?"

Throughout that long Sunday, this continued. Every brief return to consciousness. Every momentary respite. His first words were always about those seven coins.

The man who led armies, who changed history, who won thousands of hearts—now using every precious moment of energy for this.

Aisha (RA) finally understood. She left his side just long enough to distribute the coins to the poor of Madinah.

When she returned and he woke again, she whispered: "It is done."

Peace settled on his face before the fever returned.

Years later, Aisha (RA) would reflect on those final days: "When the Prophet ﷺ died, there was nothing in his house of gold or silver. Only some barley in a small cup."

She used that barley for a long time after. "It never seemed to finish," she'd say with wonder. "Until one day I measured it, and shortly after, it was gone."

The man who transformed the world had almost nothing when he left it.

The night before meeting his Lord, his home held no coins, no treasures, no wealth to count.

He did not want to meet Allah with anything unsettled.

As Ramadan approaches, this story asks us to consider what we are still holding—and what we are ready to release.

Ramadan has always been a time to lighten the heart through giving, to let go of what was never meant to stay in our hands, and to care for one another.

Sign up for the Ramadan Giving here.

Reflect on this:

What small act of giving have I delayed without reason?

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