Remembering Mum
Mum passed away recently after battling cancer for more than half a year. And I still haven't grieved for her. I'm not quite sure why.
I cried when cancer destroyed her beauty and left her a ragged, skeletal frame. I cried as she suffered through the pain in the last 2 weeks of her life. I cried on the dawn of the day when she passed on, while I was at Subuh prayers. I even remember asking God to take her life, should her suffering be prolonged. God's answer to my prayers was swift.
I cried when I saw her her dead body in the kain kapan - as I leaned over to kiss her forehead and to say something I've barely told her - "I love you". I buried her and cried again at the graveyard. I remember thinking and saying to her - "What will we do without your prayers and doa, for us? What will we do?"
And then, the tears stopped. I never cried again from that day. I feel - nothing.
Mum was the single biggest influence in my life. Every Malay adab and adat, every value, every bite of Kelantanese wit and sarcasm, every fear and insecurity, every desperate attempt for approval - they all came from her. We were not close and our relationship was strained, as I grew older.
I couldn't relate to her, but I wanted so much to be loved by her. To have her tell me that she was proud of me. I never knew if she was.
I don't blame her - she lost her mother when she was very young. She grew up under my strict disciplinarian grandpa. Life couldn't have been easy for her, either. Later on in her life, her marriage to my father was unhappy and he became a womanizer. She held all the pain inside - she never told us - even after his death.
I discovered, after her death, that she was afraid that I will turn out like my old man. That I reminded her most of him - I was confident, flamboyant, rebellious, ambitious with a streak for chasing smart and sexy girls. And that was why she was always upset with me. She wanted me to be a good man and a good husband.
And how my divorce must have crushed her - she adored my ex-wife immensely. Marrying my ex-wife, was the one single thing I've ever done right, in her eyes. And sadly, I must admit on hindsight, I married Sya, because Mum approved of her.
I wanted Mum to be happy - she was always complaining how my brothers never married anyone deserving of them - and I wanted to be the cause of that happiness. That would be my salvation that will redeem me, for the lack of affection that I've received from her. I would make Mum happy.
Needless to say, my divorce was one of the biggest source of sorrows in her life, prior to her death. She feared for my future - how I was going to turn out - the sort of man I would be, if I remained single.
I loved my Mum. I never really told her but I hoped that she understood through my gestures and actions, while she was still alive. I suspect that she loved me, although the moments when it was shown was too few and far in between. Especially after Ayah's death, when I was 10.
But I do have fond memories of my mother - early on in my life. Of birthdays, of hugs and kisses and a brand new bicycle, when I was 3 years old. Of the time when she walked me to school on my first day. Of how she used to comb my hair, to make sure that I was the smartest looking boy in the class. And how she would bring Milo for me at recess in primary school.
And the classic curries and exquisite kuah kuning and udang pedas that she used to prepare for me. That was how Mum expressed her love as I got older - through her cooking.
I've missed you before your death, Mum. And God knows I miss you even more, now. I love you and may God bless your soul forever. Al-fatihah.
I cried when cancer destroyed her beauty and left her a ragged, skeletal frame. I cried as she suffered through the pain in the last 2 weeks of her life. I cried on the dawn of the day when she passed on, while I was at Subuh prayers. I even remember asking God to take her life, should her suffering be prolonged. God's answer to my prayers was swift.
I cried when I saw her her dead body in the kain kapan - as I leaned over to kiss her forehead and to say something I've barely told her - "I love you". I buried her and cried again at the graveyard. I remember thinking and saying to her - "What will we do without your prayers and doa, for us? What will we do?"
And then, the tears stopped. I never cried again from that day. I feel - nothing.
Mum was the single biggest influence in my life. Every Malay adab and adat, every value, every bite of Kelantanese wit and sarcasm, every fear and insecurity, every desperate attempt for approval - they all came from her. We were not close and our relationship was strained, as I grew older.
I couldn't relate to her, but I wanted so much to be loved by her. To have her tell me that she was proud of me. I never knew if she was.
I don't blame her - she lost her mother when she was very young. She grew up under my strict disciplinarian grandpa. Life couldn't have been easy for her, either. Later on in her life, her marriage to my father was unhappy and he became a womanizer. She held all the pain inside - she never told us - even after his death.
I discovered, after her death, that she was afraid that I will turn out like my old man. That I reminded her most of him - I was confident, flamboyant, rebellious, ambitious with a streak for chasing smart and sexy girls. And that was why she was always upset with me. She wanted me to be a good man and a good husband.
And how my divorce must have crushed her - she adored my ex-wife immensely. Marrying my ex-wife, was the one single thing I've ever done right, in her eyes. And sadly, I must admit on hindsight, I married Sya, because Mum approved of her.
I wanted Mum to be happy - she was always complaining how my brothers never married anyone deserving of them - and I wanted to be the cause of that happiness. That would be my salvation that will redeem me, for the lack of affection that I've received from her. I would make Mum happy.
Needless to say, my divorce was one of the biggest source of sorrows in her life, prior to her death. She feared for my future - how I was going to turn out - the sort of man I would be, if I remained single.
I loved my Mum. I never really told her but I hoped that she understood through my gestures and actions, while she was still alive. I suspect that she loved me, although the moments when it was shown was too few and far in between. Especially after Ayah's death, when I was 10.
But I do have fond memories of my mother - early on in my life. Of birthdays, of hugs and kisses and a brand new bicycle, when I was 3 years old. Of the time when she walked me to school on my first day. Of how she used to comb my hair, to make sure that I was the smartest looking boy in the class. And how she would bring Milo for me at recess in primary school.
And the classic curries and exquisite kuah kuning and udang pedas that she used to prepare for me. That was how Mum expressed her love as I got older - through her cooking.
I've missed you before your death, Mum. And God knows I miss you even more, now. I love you and may God bless your soul forever. Al-fatihah.
posted by Stingrayz | 1:39 PM
6 Comments:
Maybe I have forgotten how to cry. Or maybe I was all cried out, when she suffered during her battle against cancer. Not quite sure.
And even though I thought that I would never feel it, there are a million and one things that I wish could have been different, had she been alive.
A person is only dead if you stop remembering her. Physical presence is irrelevant. A mother's doa and prayers remain with you for life. And she did love you, in her own way. One thing I have learnt over the years is that, you can never dictate how a person loves you. It is enough that someone, somewhere does. And you are loved.
My mum died of cancer when I was 15 and I remembered crying once - when I heard the news. It was odd, the whole event was surreal and every single ritual that followed seemed, till this day, like a bad dream.
Grieving takes a while to catch up on some people. In my case, it caught up with me 7 years later.
Take your time. Piece back what you can, when you can.
When a loved one in my big, extended family dies, my parents would be the ones going around making sure the ceremony is well-managed. They are the ones consoling the sorrowful members, never stopped much to cry themselves. The anchors, you might say.
And growing up watching that, I believe I would turn out that way too.
Make me wonder sometimes, would I be able to grieve for them, if their times come before mine. And would I be grieved upon, if my time comes before theirs?
Najah:
Thanks. Am taking it one day at a time. Am prepared for the "delayed trauma" - have heard of others going through it
Voice from Within:
One of the things I remember when my late dad passed on, was the sight of Mum clearing up his cupboard. It's an emotional moment - every item had a memory attached to it - she cried all throughout the task of packing up his things, into a box.
You will find the strength, if and when the time comes. It's not something you ask for - it's just there, like God's pillow, beneath your broken heart. You go on from the experience and grow from it. Irreversibly.
Don't know how I stumbled upon this entry but it did left some tears after reading it.
My mom died when I was 4 and I can still cry now when "Remembering Mum".
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