I pull up to the parking lot and cut the engine.  Sitting in the car, I draw a ragged breath and close my eyes. Reluctantly, I open my eyes and stare at the building in front of me.  Guilt claws at my heart and I whisper, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Immediately I am transported back to the same place two years ago, on that fateful day when I stepped out of that building, that formidable structure with its stark white sterile interior. I recall the blazing heat of that afternoon sun, but inside I was numb.  Looking around, I could see everyone seamlessly going about their mundane lives. Nothing had changed, but I had. My whole world had collapsed and there was nothing I could do about it. I felt empty and so utterly alone. 

The sound of a car horn jolts me back to the present and I realize that tears are streaming down my cheeks.  I brush them off with the back of my hand and start the car. I exit the lot, trying to concentrate on the road in front of me, ignoring my racing thoughts. Half an hour later, I reach my destination.  My body, as though sensing my agitation, refuses to cooperate. I heave myself out of the car and reach for the bouquet of roses which I had picked up earlier that afternoon. Walking through the open gate, I enter the compound and whisper, “Hi Mum, it’s me.” There is no greeting in response to my words, no welcoming smile and accompanying wave. The face that would light up on hearing my voice was not there, and never would be. All I hear is silence and all I see is the plot where my mother is laid to rest.

I place the bouquet on her grave and kiss the cross with her name engraved on it.  Walking over to the bench, I lower my body with a weary sigh. “I dreamt of you early this morning, mum,” I began, “in fact, that’s nothing new.  I dream of you every single day.  I cannot wait to go to bed so that I can meet you in my dreams. There, nothing has changed.  Do you know that I went to Salmaniya Hospital exactly at 1.50 pm, in front of the Ward where you took your last breath two years ago today? You fought so hard, I fought too, but it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t save you. I hope you know how much I loved you.  For years we struggled to get you to stay here in Bahrain and it seemed a miracle when I applied for your 5-year resident visa during covid and it was approved. I actually thought that this was a sign that everything was going to be okay. I never, ever thought, that after five months you would be whisked off in an ambulance and would never come home again. I needed more time, more time to memorize every inch of you, your soft voice and hearty laughter at a shared joke between the two of us.

Navigating life without you is so long, tiresome and lonely. On your burial day itself, many suggested I move on. So I keep silent as I don’t want to burden them with my thoughts. They think I’m strong, what a laugh. 

Do you know, I sometimes rush home, waiting to tell you how my day has been.  On the way I think of what you would like for dinner. Then it dawns on me, that you are not there anymore.  Your mobile number is still in my contacts and your face stares at me from every photograph I have of us together, each one showcasing effortless and endless love.”

I stop abruptly, recalling what she had said to me on countless occasions. “If anything ever happens to me, don’t worry, you go ahead and live your life.”  It dawns on me that she wouldn’t want me to mourn and carry on her legacy this way. She was so strong and she raised me to be resilient too. Amidst the despair, a flicker of resolve ignites within me.

“Thank you, mum, for loving me though all those years of teenage angst which carried on well into adulthood.  I’m glad that you are not suffering any more. I hope that dad is looking after you and you are happy together.  I will carry you both with me for the rest of my life. Don’t worry about me, I am going to be fine.”

I leave the cemetery exhausted, yet cautiously optimistic. It won’t be easy. Grief stays, it survives, but so does love and hope. And in her love, I will find my peace. I imagine my mother’s face smiling back at me. 

preprocess