Mom
Six weeks ago, my mother died suddenly.
I am in shock, devastated, numb, broken, empty, lost, weak. It is hard to speak to anyone. I miss her so much.
Her name was Fauzia.
(Was. The most painful word I’ve ever typed.)
My mother was an incredible woman. She was a doctor, painter, chef, philanthropist, and much more. She was my mother. She was always, always there for me. She gave me the strength and example to become the man I am today.
I flew to India in a rush, my siblings and I somehow making it through Middle East airspaces that were closed mid-flight (there just happened to be a war breaking out in the region) in time for her funeral.
I buried my mother. I cried. I stayed on to settle what I could.
When I returned home, everything was as I left it, yet nothing was the same. I think of the poet Ocean Vuong’s words on losing his own mother:
Ever since I lost her, I felt that my life has been lived in only two days. There's the today, where she is not here, and then the vast and endless yesterday where she was, even though it's been three years since. How many months and days? I only see it with one demarcation. Two days—today without my mother, and yesterday, when she was alive. That's all I see. That's how I see my life now.
I am doing my best to honor her memory in as many ways as I can. For one, I’m taking extra special care of the birds in my backyard. She always loved that I fed them, she used to say it is a special and honorable thing to take care of the birds. Now I take care of them in her name.
The very day I returned from India, I saw a bluebird visit the backyard for the first time.
It flew down to the chair in front of me and looked right at me, as if trying to speak to me.
Then it stood on this stone and tilted its head as it held my gaze.
That wasn’t just any stone. It’s the gravestone we made for my cat Scooby, who passed away a year and a half ago. To see this bluebird sit there, of all places, I could hear Mom telling me she's okay, and Scooby’s okay too. At least, that’s what I wanted to hear.
My mother has always been blessed with good health, until the last few years. When things got really bad, I went to her, stayed with her, took care of her. I got closer to her during those days than ever before.
I’m grateful I had the chance to take care of her. Knowing I showed up for her when it mattered is the only thing that gives me peace right now.
If your mother is alive, call her, visit her, hug her if you can. Now.
Do what you can today, for it may the only thing giving you peace tomorrow.