Written on 20th Oct 2020
Trigger warning. I’m writing here about losing my mother, if you feel this can trigger you in anyway or upset you, please avoid reading this post.
Today marks 3 years to the day I was going home to be with Ammi (my mom)
That was one of the hardest times of my life… yea there are more.
I remember losing my sanity days before, hearing and seeing stuff that didn’t exist.
I remember running at the airport because I had been walking to wrong terminal, and airport staff wouldn’t let me board as clearly I was about to pass out. I was on prednisone (steroids)
I remember praying during flight “Ya Allah, if it’s better for her take her now”, it was Friday and it’s very important day of the week for us Muslims.
I remember my dad, brother and uncle came to pick me and it looked like they weren’t breathing. My own breathing resumed when my brother started talking, we hadn’t lost her.
Then on the way dad telling me to stay strong, there have been blood clots coming out of her ears and nose, so time was close.
When I saw her she had a million questions in her eyes that I wasn’t going to answer.
She was with us for 2 more days.
A lot happened in those 2 days.
But what destroys me still was the time she ask me “what’s happening to me?” in the middle of the night. Those words still just kill me. I told her to start reciting Kalma, maybe I shouldn’t have but I wanted it to be easier for her.
I remember I was rubbing her feet when she was leaving, God knows what was I expecting. That was first time I broke in front of her as we had a rule, nobody can cry in front of her.
After that something switched off.
I remember talking to a lot of people and telling them how peaceful the whole thing was, like a robot.
The trauma just shut itself in a box inside me, as if it was afraid of getting exposed to the world.
I still can’t say Ammi and death in one sentence. Writing is different.
I don’t know what happened to me. It’s a caged feeling that is just getting bigger and bigger and there’s no way to let it out.
I festering wound that I can’t cut and throw away.
Maybe that’s how it is. Maybe there was so much going on in my life, I never got the chance.
Whenever that trauma wants to come out, I build my walls higher and stronger.
It’s a weird inner conflict. I want to cry and I don’t want to.
I emotionally open to very few people in real life, and I struggled in front of them too.
They say it’s better if you can cry it out. Does that mean it will keep getting worse for me?
Idk if shutting like this is good or bad.
I don’t know if this made me stronger or weaker.
I don’t even know the magnitude of the pain inside me. What if one day it just explodes?
I think I’m going crazy here.
This is 3rd year and dad is hospitalized, in a way it’s better he is there, it’s safer this way.
Please say a prayer for my mom. I wish I had 1% of her positivity, this place would be so much happier. She was such a happy-go-lucky person.