In Memoriam: The Second Anniversary of My Mother (Appan Jee)-01.06.2010
Appan Jee died today. Or was it yesterday? I can't be sure
Written by
Agha Muhammad Ajmal
Independent Media & Event Management Professional
aghaajmal@gmail.com
How do other people cope with such a monumental loss? I don't know,
really. I listen to people telling me things about their experiences
with the loss of parents, but this usually seems more like an attempt
to rally my spirits and assist me in dealing with the situation. While
this is admirable in so many ways, it does not work (at least for me).
I know I'm not the first or last person to lose a mother, but damn it
if it doesn't feel that way.
Perhaps I can qualify it more: I am the only person to lose this
mother (except for my brothers and sisters). Even my brother and
sister and I cannot understand each other's loss completely, since our
relationships with Mother were unique and had nuances that are
extremely personal and, in many ways, intensely private. There are
those moments shared just between mother and child, when no one else
is a witness, and those become a slide show of memories that are
precious yet heartbreaking.
I can recall many times spent with Mother that made me realize not
only how much she loved me, but how that love was magnified by things
I said and did. When my daughter Kashmala was born, I saw something in
the sparkle of Mother's eyes that was both familiar and different, a
sort of maternal pride that coalesced as she held the baby,
reminiscent of her own motherhood and yet celebrating my new
fatherhood. It goes beyond saying that this affirmation of our own
mother-son bond was multiplied infinitesimally by this new dynamic.
Just when I thought my mother could not love me any more, I found that
she could through my child.
How does someone assess a lifetime of a loved one after that person is
gone? I don't know how to do it justice, but now after a year since
losing her I still have trouble looking at Mom's photograph. I want
to. I need to, but when I do, emotions pour forth that cause me to
lose myself. Composure seems to be such a valued thing in our society,
and yet when I analyze it, I know that the breaking down of what was
my once stoic nature has caused me to change considerably. The "new"
me is not just more emotional, but more vulnerable, sullen, at times
morose, and infinitely more quiet. Unfortunately, this doesn't make me
a pleasure to be around these days. I strive to be cheerful for other
people's benefit (most notably my wife and children).
I cannot reconcile her passing now after she is gone a year, though I
try. I understand that at the end she had so many medical issues, and
her one wish was to be at home with her family. While I am somewhat
comforted by the notion that she passed away in the place she wanted
to be, I sometimes wonder if it would have been easier if she had been
in that sterile world of the hospital when she passed away, where so
many souls pass over and the moment becomes less imprinted and
impacted on a room or house.
Nothing I do brings too much comfort, and I have tried doing all the
things people have told me to try. I have been to Mosques/Imam
Bargahs; I have prayed and prayed and prayed. My return to Allah has
been in part because of loss but also in finding something in myself
that needed spirituality. For a while, I believed Allah had abandoned
me, but I don't feel this is blasphemy.
Still, there is no choice but to look back. By this time next year I
hope I can tackle the memories, delve into the boxes of memorabilia
that link Appan Jee to me and my daughter Kashmala. Perhaps the
healthiest way to handle death is what I learned on her death day:
Appan Jee is with me, a real presence in my heart and mind.
Appa Jee's being gone is still painful, but knowing she is there in
some form is helping me. Thus, when I go to bed each night I speak to
her and, sometimes when the darkness settles over the room and I am
between asleep and awake, I catch a glimpse of that sparkle in her
eyes and hear the sweet song coming from her lips, "MERA MUNDA KINNA
SONA YE TEY MEIN AREE MAAN WAN" She used to rock me to sleep with that
song and now, sometimes, she still does.
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