I don’t want to live or die without you, be the tombstone on my grave.
Be the sunshine on my day.
Be the map that guides my way.
I love you.
You, in your awkward pretty way with your crooked thinking, simple but so brave
be my reflection, be the tombstone on my grave.
I love you.
Your arms that wrap around me, enclose and keep me safe.
Your distorted thoughts accompany my way,
an understanding without words, without anything I say.
You make sense to me. I’m your slave and you’re my slave,
be the tombstone on my grave.
My protector and deliverance, you’ve captured me. I’m saved.
I don’t want to die without you, be the tombstone on my grave.

I remember when we were so young but I was always so much younger and looking up at you, looking up to you. You’ve always been right here, never far from me and life was always easy even when it wasn’t easy and sometimes it wasn’t easy but you helped me to get through. It was always you.
Perhaps I learned things I shouldn’t have but I did under your wing. I noticed everything and my thanks goes to you ’cause you were beautiful, to me. Maybe you didn’t know, maybe you did. I don’t know but because of you, life’s been beautiful because you’re beautiful.
Sibling rivalry has no meaning to me. I don’t understand because you always held my hand, never letting go. I thank you from my soul. I thank you from my soul.
I remember how you used to show me things you may not realize that it was always done with care and loving eyes. I payed attention to your words, they were so wise, to me. It meant the world to me.
I thank you from my soul because you’re so beautiful.
Our memories are different, this is from my point of view as I watched the goings on from a corner in the room. I couldn’t help but see and absorb the truth the only way I knew and I fell in love with you. I grew in love with you from the corner in the room as I watched from the distance. How could anyone resist this, the endurance and persistence?
You were so beautiful and I thank you from my soul. I thank you from my soul.
Time has led us here and you’ve never left my side, not even in the miles, consistency abides. I may never find the words to relay all that I feel but I know love is real because you showed me true and in everything you’ve done, in everything you do.
Sibling rivalry means nothing to me. I thank you from my soul because you’re beautiful. Because you’re beautiful.

Nature is its own religion, doesn’t contemplate.
People make their own decisions. Time, It doesn’t wait.
Bigotry is self damnation. Prejudice is learned.
Love and hate are equal measures, tables left un-turned.
People create rules and laws and tell you follow me.
But trees are solid til they’re cut down, then it’s not a tree.
It’s carved out hollow, See?
Sometimes clouds shed rain and the earth, it gets to feed.
Flowers shed their dander, planting their own seed and that’s all that they need.
Even animals have respect and somehow understand, the laws that they abide and live by to protect their life and land.
The stars and sun and moon and sky show homage to each other and there’s no greater love than that,
the child and the mother.

Was it enough?
When I think back over the years about my kids, I wonder if what I did was enough. I’m not referring to whether I loved them enough because there’s no doubt they know they are loved beyond measure.
When I think back to the very beginning, I discovered a new love for the first time that was sacred, transcendent, undefinable. From the moment I felt them in my womb it was indescribable and when they were born and placed in my arms as I held their small bodies against mine, the sensation was paralyzing. I was submerged in a feeling I had never experienced. I was in a love that was spiritual and heavenly and pure! I suddenly had fallen into my new role as a mother, a guardian, a woman who for the first time became someone that was not going to allow predators of any kind to come near. A mother who was going to do anything that I needed to do to protect and shield these babies from anything and everything that wasn’t good. Suddenly, I was a warrior with a sword and shield of armor that I wrapped them up in. I would be damned if I was gonna let anything happen to them! I knew I would kill and die for them and there would be no stopping me! To the death!!
In the blink of an eye, these babies that had just nuzzled at my breast with their little hands wrapped around my finger, who needed me and couldn’t survive without me, who cried out to me and crawled into bed to be near me because they loved to cuddle, because they knew they were safest in my bed because I was the defeater of all monsters and scary things, their warrior! In the blink of an eye, they’re suddenly 16 and 19, young men in these young men bodies with facial hair and manly features, driving cars and going out and in college, working, interested in girls and hanging out with their friends or in their rooms because privacy is so important and they need their “alone” time and don’t want to be bothered.
Now when I catch a glimpse of them, in their element, I ask myself was it enough? Did I teach them enough? Did I remind them enough that though it is so important to be kind and compassionate, that it’s okay to stand up and be firm in their convictions. Did I do enough to let them know that sometimes the world is harsh and people are cruel and life is challenging and that no matter what, if they just keep going and as long as they never give up, win or lose, that they’ll be alright, they’ll survive. Were the lessons powerful enough to resonate with them? Did I do enough?
When I sneak into their rooms at night and say a small prayer and touch their cheek or brush their hair away from their forehead just to feel their warmth, I get lost in thought as I stare at them. I can’t help but wonder if they still need my “armor” or have I given them the strength and know how to defend themselves against the “monsters” under their bed and that’s why they no longer come to mine? Are these young men, my babies, going to know how to do what’s necessary in circumstances that are out of my control?
Were the lessons that I tried to teach them about work ethic and time management and relationships and finances enough? Did the dire importance of self love and respect sink in? Is the faith that I tried to instill in them powerful enough for them to know that they are worthy of nothing less than the might of the universe? Do they know that they deserve to be here, living this human experience and knowing they are true spirits with souls that are benevolent? Did I do enough?
I’d like to think I have because when my babies sit down next to me to have a conversation about things that are happening in their lives and I listen to their words, I realize how familiar they sound and relief takes over me. I watch them come and go and as they leave, I whisper a prayer and as they arrive back home I whisper thank you. I know that no matter how hard I’ve tried, repeated, annoyed, held, yelled, laughed, cursed, shook my head, cried, I know they got it because I see it in their actions. I see it in the way they treat people, in the way they love animals and appreciate nature. I know because they are gentle in their ways and kind in their consideration. I know it stuck because I find myself overwhelmed in pride when I watch them in their own being and it is alluring.
So, if you, mothers and fathers, guardians and keepers question weather or not you did enough, you are not alone. We do the best we can and when we know better, we do better. Have faith my fellow peers for we are warriors!

To my boys. The heart of my heart.
If I built you a house, do you know what I’d do? I would build it from love. I would build it for you.
In each stone that I lay, I would inscribe a prayer. I would seal it with hope and joy in every layer.
I would plant you a garden. I would kiss every seed. It”d be full of Gods blessings and all that you’d need.
I would fill every room in your house full of love. I’d make sure that it had everything you dream of.
I would pour my whole heart into all that I do. I would do this, I would. I would do this for you.
And when the night comes and you lay down your head you will rest knowing only peace. You will wake with the sunrise kissing your face, You will wake up always at ease.
If I built you a house, I would build it with grace. I would build it where kindness fills every space.
I would make all the windows and walls and the doors with the strength of your strength and the warmth that is yours. Where with every step that you ever take, would be etched in the floors, I would make no mistake.
I would pour my whole heart into all that I do. I would do this, I would. I would do this for you.
And no one could enter if their heart wasn’t pure, and all who would enter would only endure.
And gently I’d build it, I would do this, I would. I would do it for you any way that I could.
I would build it where love resides in the beams and where spirit and fortune bust at the seams.
And where all of the persons in your life that are true, would be safe in your home, in the heart that is you.
If I built you a house, do you know what I’d do?
I would die just to build it. I would do that for you.

Looking out the kitchen window washing dishes, lost in thought and feeling free, remembering when life seemed a little simpler and when everyone and everything surrounded me.
I notice that the sun has started setting as the night begins to start to dim and I breathe a little deeper, just a little, as I focus on how I can take it in.
Suddenly I hear you asking whats for dinner? I look in your direction just to see that you’re not there, but I say out loud, I made your favorite dinner, grab a chair.
Our conversation starts with how’s your day going? I tell you how much I’ve been missing you, that it’s been hard sometimes and I can’t seem to just get through.
I feel you hold my hand, I close my eyes, I feel you touch my skin, I start to cry.
I tell you everything about my life and you just smile, you already know. You’ve been watching everything.
You reach your arms out and you pull me in.
I rest my head against you as you stroke my hair. I don’t want to be awoken from this daydream, I shut my eyes tighter as I start to feel a little lighter.
I breathe in the memory of your flavor. I savor every moment as I savor.
Stay for just a little longer as I plead, knowing this is only just a daydream.

My mom had asked my oldest sister to have me come stay the night with her which I found interesting since I’d spent several nights with her. That’s how I knew this would be the last time.

I got stuck in traffic on my way to the hospital and all I could think was, “please God, please let her be alive when I get there”, which wasn’t a stranger to thought. Every morning for eleven years I would wake up and lay still to hear the sound of her at the kitchen sink or on the phone or anything, “please God, let her be alive.”

When I got to her room she was sitting up in bed. She looked okay and smiled when she seen me and said I’m sorry, I know you’re tired. ( imagine that, here she is laying in a hospital bed, body infested with cancer, wearing a pink babooshka on her small bald head and she’s apologizing because she knows I’m tired!) She even suggested I leave because she felt bad but I didn’t. I know she wanted me there. She asked for me and I wanted to be nowhere else in the world.

We talked a little but I can’t remember what she said. I hate that I don’t remember! What’s wrong with me? Wasn’t I paying attention? Her dinner came in and she tried to eat a little which gave me hope since her appetite had been very poor. But I knew better as I watched her sitting there with death hanging over her head. Hovering. Waiting.

She needed to use the bathroom so I helped her get up and get there. She sat on the toilet and leaned forward to rest her head against my belly and wrapped her arms around my waste. I remember staring down at her and wanting to pick her up like a baby and nestle her in my arms and against my chest and protect and comfort her. I wanted to save her.

When she was done she couldn’t wipe herself. She said I know you gross out but I can’t do it, can you please help me? And just like that, there went her dignity, right down the toilet with the rest of her shit, My mother asking me to wipe her ass! The strongest, bravest most beautiful woman I ever had the privilege to know and then she kissed my hands! My hands! Can you fucking believe it? As if I were worthy! I shouldn’t have just wiped her ass. I should’ve kissed it right along with the very ground she walked on my precious precious mama! I’m so sorry.

When I got her back to bed I layed next to her and we held each other and kissed each other. I’ll never forget her breath on my skin that night and the softness of her cheek. She was so fragile and frightened, trying to be brave but who wouldn’t be scared?

She became agitated and uncomfortable because her body hurt so I lay on the other bed so she could rest. I didn’t want to leave her side but I felt so sorry for her.

I fell asleep.

It seemed like forever when I woke up startled by the sound of the IV crashing to the floor but only fifteen minutes past. Still, it makes me sick that I fell asleep.

The suffering began…

  She didn’t know what she needed or what to do. She thought she needed to pee but she didn’t. She paced and moaned and cried. She would sit then stand then lie down then get up and pace again. She kept saying in Arabic, “yuma ya habeebtee, ya Allah, mautooney. Khaloony a moot.” (mother my love, kill me, dear God let me die). I was sitting on the window ledge just staring at her. The room suddenly felt dreary and gray like the sky during a violent rain. I remember thinking it was because death was there and I kept looking to see if God was there too. I realized I was spacing out and  didn’t know what to do so I got up to hold her and she let me.

She closed her eyes and lay her head on me and breathed heavy. I suggested she take slow deep breaths but she couldn’t. She was so agonized. I tried massaging her but it hurt her body to be touched.

We paged the nurse over and over again asking her for something to relieve the pain. I didn’t know it then but if they administered more morphine she would have overdosed but the nurse was so cocky about it. I realize now that perhaps this was hard on her too but still, she was so unkind and short with her patience.

My mother was asking me to help her and I couldn’t! I paged the nurse again and when she came she said she called the doctor and was waiting to hear back from him and all I said was okay. That’s it! Okay. I didn’t yell at her. I didn’t ask her what we could do. I didn’t insist that she help her somehow. I wanted to shake her into my rage, into my fear. I wanted her to understand that my mother was suffering. I wanted her to feel the loss of what I was losing! How could I make her see and feel what I was seeing and feeling? How was she ever gonna know the love that was diminishing, the woman, the sister, the wife, the mother? How was anybody ever gonna know? Still, I just stood there like a fucking idiot and said okay.

What the FUCK was the matter with me? My mother was suffering and I didn’t do a fucking thing! I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to help her.

She kept asking me to help her, “Yuma sadeeny yuma!” (mom help me mom) I hadn’t realized it until much later as I rehearsed that night over and over in my head that those were the last words my mother ever spoke, “Yuma, sadeeny yuma.”

I never told anyone about what happened that night. I was ashamed for being unable to do anything, for falling asleep, for letting her suffer. My mother would have never fallen asleep on me. She would have done anything. I miss her so much!

That was the worst night of my life. The night that felt like it would last forever. The night my mother began to die…

I imagine everyone thinks their mother is the best mother in the world. For me, mine was. She was beautiful in the way that made everything else seem dull and faded. She smelled so good all the time but not because her perfume smelled good but because on her skin it couldn’t help itself. She was gentle in the way a raindrop rests on a flower petal and fierce in her love the way oxygen is to fire. She was undeniable only I don’t think she knew it because she was humble, teachable, peaceful, grateful.

Beauty held a different definition for her. Everything and everyone was beautiful to her. Literally. She seen what the average person didn’t and she was graceful in it. “Turn the other cheek” she’d say and she meant it because she lived it. She found it difficult to understand cruelty. She only knew how to love and love she did…

She had a naivety about her. She wasn’t quick to understand a joke but when she did her laughter was contagious. Her smile lit up a room. It really did and all who knew her loved her because it was impossible not to. She drew you in like a song that you needed to listen to in silence so you could feel every word in its rhythm…

When morning showed up, I called home and told them all to come. Most of her sisters and brother and parents were all there. They flew in from out of town to be with her. My father, brother and sisters and their husbands, aunts, uncles, cousins, everyone came. We were all there, crowded in that room. The room where death and me had our own little secret.

She knew we were there but she couldn’t talk. We all just sort of shuffled around. People act so differently around death. Some cry. Some talk. Some say nothing at all.

The day was long. Doctors and nurses were in and out. some went to get coffee and smoke. Some just sat by her side. But all of us knew what was coming or rather what was leaving.

She continued to be uncomfortable throughout the day until her body just went into shock. Uncomfortable? Is that what I just said? No, she wasn’t uncomfortable, she was tortured, in agony.

We asked the doctors, “Can’t we do something to help her? More chemo? Radiation?” We were so desperate, but her body was overtaken.

They say some people need permission to let go. So as the day progressed we needed to decide whether or not to give her enough morphine to put her out of her misery. So Connie asked her and I can’t quote her but it was something like, Yuma, if we give you more morphine, you’ll die. Do you want it? She nodded or blinked to say yes, I can’t quite remember…

The phone rang and it was my moms youngest sister Samya. She asked me to put the phone up to her ear. I don’t know what she said to her but it felt like she was waiting to hear her voice. When mom heard her voice she breathed in a sort of gasp and her eyes grew big. That was the first of her last five breaths. Her eyes were fixated at the ceiling in awe. That’s when God came. Oh, he was there and she could see him.  I went to her side and sat next to her holding her hand.

She breathed again. I whispered in her ear, “it’s okay mom, let go. you were the greatest mom. We’ll be okay just go. Be with God. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you…

It was time.

Death lowered itself on to my mother like a vulture seeking prey and enveloped her into its arms.

She took her final breaths and and all the poison in her started seeping out of her mouth and nose. My grandmother wrapped a towel around her head and down below her chin and I yelled no! She’ll choke! My sweet grandmother just watched her daughter die and I yelled at her. I think it was my aunt Laila who removed me from my mothers side. Samer, my cousin held me while I sobbed into his chest.

Connie was two weeks away from giving birth to her first child. She was swollen and devastated. Our mother would never see her first borns’ first born. Tragic!

Mona cried but I don’t remember what else and I believe Mazen, my brother, well that’s just a whole other story. Our mother, the only person who loved us more than anyone ever would or could, was gone and we were lost.

It rained on the way home…

I walked into my house. The place that was once my home because of the woman who made it so.  The place that felt like the safest place in the world, where peace and joy and laughter and fear once resided. The place where the aroma of love was cooked into the dishes that were prepared, where monsters didn’t exist, where life breathed.

Everyone was there but it was empty still, vacant of the life that preserved the life that was there, vacant of the warmth from the gentle touch of a simple woman who held more love, more compassion, more strength in her little finger than anyone could have held in their entire being. Vacant.

I found myself in her bed, wrapped in her blanket, with my nose pressed to her pillow to feel and smell even the tiniest part of her. My mother. But she was gone. Forever. And life would never be the same.

The kitchen was full of everyone sort of scrambling around trying to make sense of what happened, trying to feel comfortable in this home where the love once seeped from its seams. The place we all gathered time and again to be near her, around her, in her presence. We were all there and it was empty.

Somehow I remember everyones faces and somehow I can’t recall.

Zbishik, the polish guy that rented the apartment in the basement for ten years, is the face I remember the most. He looked as tormented as I felt. He loved her and in his broken english said to me, “you mama like my mama.” She cooked for him and he did odd jobs around the house to help her. They were buddies but to him she was his “mama” too.

I don’t know where everyone slept or if they even slept there. I just remember my brother Mazen slept in her bed and I slept in mine. She and I shared a room with two single beds for a very long time but now she was gone.

 

 

There’s a story about a girl that I met from the city.

she was smart and she was funny.

She was so pretty.

Her eyes held an unfamiliar gaze, I felt such pity.

But her smile made me forget and that’s a night I won’t regret because she loved me in a way that made me giddy.

She never spoke a word, there was no need.

Yet in her silence I was heard and she agreed.

Mystical, she was a different breed.

She would sing to every song, she is a songbird.

You could see her spirit hover up above.

And though I’ve loved and have been loved with such intensity, I’ve never felt more convalescent love.

Beauty. Beauty.

She was.

I can’t tell you why, just because.

If the darkest night was terrorized because the moon and stars were hidden, the life she lived would light the sky. The sun would be forbidden.

She is beauty, beauty cause there’s not a better word.

She is beauty, so very beautiful.

So beautiful in fact, it seems absurd.

–M

 

I found an old book written by sages, lost in a world on blank empty pages.
talking to me from across the ages, describing the butterfly in all of its phases.
I sat in that chair lost in translation, so suddenly clear echoed vibrations.
Shutting my eyes, I could see even clearer
spirit was talking and soul was the hearer.
I shivered, my body, the house of my being, I knew without looking at what I was seeing.
A love most abundant was surrounding me,
grace, compassion and decency.
And there, in that moment, I was set free.
–M