Happy Mother’s Day — Remembering Rohima
My Mom passed away and I never ever got the chance to give her a Mother’s day gift or flowers. In her life, as an adult I never did and I can’t recall if I did as a child. I often cry when I think about this. I didn’t know her favorite color, her shoe size, her favorite perfume, nothing. I regret deeply, the fact that I was too busy protecting myself from the pain of seeing her, feeling confused and ashamed, knowing she was suffering from mental unwellness and not realizing she was alone in this. I was embarrassed and scared to know her and keep in contact. I forgot about her. I was scared of what I saw when she had an episode: that was my reason — I was protecting myself from being frightened.
Footprints & Letters
When she was found in a coma and hospitalized, my sisters and I went to clean her apartment and I found thank-you notes she had written to people she didn’t get a chance to give. I found her prayer mat with her footprints imprinted on it. I learned and always knew she was a beautiful soul; faithful, grateful, generous, funny and creative. She was also a shopaholic like me as my sisters pointed out — bulk-buying as I do now. I can only pray that I leave a lasting impression on those around me and people say the same things about me when I’m gone.
Judging by the footprint in the mat, she had small feet, but she always had big boots to fill. Even days before she fell into a coma, she asked relatives to buy her daughters gifts for the upcoming cultural festivals, Eid. She knew she would be leaving us behind. She didn’t get the chance to give me a physical gift to me as a teenager or an adult. I wish she knew she was the gift I would cherish most in my memories.
It hurts me when people say I’m crazy and it hurts me to remember that when she was institutionalized she wrote me backdated letters to the year of my birth. She wrote about how she was coming back to get me and save me. I never saw the letters. They were thrown away and hidden from me because they were ‘crazy’ and I needed to be protected from her craziness I guess. She’s always been so loving and kind. I don’t know what trauma and difficulties she had in her life but I carry the hormonal damage she experienced in my body as a reminder of some of what she was going through at the time of my birth.
Perhaps my birth was responsible for her troubles. I will never know.
Take care of your mental health. If it costs you your peace, it’s too expensive. Always remember that our choices make us — they define the rest of our lives. Not everyone is able to think clearly, especially the mentally ill.
I rarely saw all my siblings together after the age of 19. There was always someone missing from the events and parties. On the day she died, I noticed it was the first time we were all together, in our silence, crying.
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Laky, Rohima’s daughter
