Some drink to drown there sorrows while others....well find other means to escape the things that chase them. My escape has always been my writing. It has been my therapist, the sounding board of my loneliness, the place where I can go and find myself each time.
I began this journey to try to make sense of my mother's terminal cancer diagnosis. Writing about it allowed me to express my thoughts and emotions. I discovered myself in the process.
She died nearly two years ago and I am slowly moving forward from that point in time. It seems appropriate to end this blog here, bury her if you will, something I was unable to do in real life. I am moving forward because I must; it's inevitable. On that note, I want to thank you for listen or reading in this case.
You've been gone over a year. Your son and husband (yes, my brother and father) went on vacation so no one was home for the anniversary of your death. I went to see you cousin and your son-in-law (yes, I know, my husband) preached a short message for the first time in seven years. The month of August is nearly over and we're finally getting around to celebrating the anniversary of your death or maybe it's a memorial. You know I'm terrible at these things, pretending to care about something I don't really care about.
You're gone. I've accepted that. I've learned to live with hit. I've managed to move on with my life, even if that life has a huge hole in it shaped like you.
Your sister called me and gave me her chicken korma recipe. That's what started the whole thing. After I hung up the phone that I realized how much she sounds like you, the way she talks. But then she's your sister so she should sound like you. The way she said I should use half ghee and half oil and it'll taste good but maybe not so good for health. I could hear you telling her that in that big sister tone you used.
You're happy aren't you? I mean you're where you always wanted to be, in the arms of your Father. How could I want you to be here with me? That would be selfish and it seems I do love you enough to be ok with you being gone because I know you're happy.
It took us a year but I think we're getting there. You said to me that you weren't worried about me because you knew I was going to be all right. I think I am getting there. You said that it was better this way and I'm starting to believe it. It is better with you gone. Somehow, when you were here you kept us together, you cared for us, you loved us. Without you, we had to learn how to do all that and in a way, we are a lot better than we have ever been.
It's a new kind of better mom. In a way, like your son said, you did water us, your own personal garden on earth and we have thrived under your care. With you gone we suffered but our roots are deep so we have managed to bounce back and thrive. You know, only God could do that, give us beauty for our ashes, joy for our sorrows.
Today I am happy. I didn't think I would be. I am tired and so is Dad. He and I spent the entire day cooking, arguing, and cooking. The food isn't exactly as good as yours (because you didn't make it) but it's pretty close. I nearly had a mishap with the chicken but he insisted I believe it's going to work. So I made it work. We'll see tomorrow. I was nervous about the rice so it didn't come out exactly like yours but he fixed it and made it work. We did the rice pudding, it tasted the way yours used to taste.
We talked a lot about you. We missed you. We remembered you. He said that I could do all the things you could. You know, that was the nicest thing he has ever said to me. He even insisted that I focus on my writing and get published.
Tomorrow we're having a memorial. This is mine to you.
I love to cook. I didn't know how to cook until I met my husband. I learned how to cook from him. My mother was always very disdainful of my use of recipes. A real cook didn't need recipes. These days I don't use recipes much maybe occasionally as a guideline. Two compliments my mother paid me in my life regarding my cooking that I never forgot were that my julienne potatoes and Indian fried egg was exactly like my grandmothers. Coming from my mother this was high praise indeed. She wasn't someone who believed in handing out praise like candy at Halloween. It could make you prideful and the Bible calls us to be humble. She and I had a very different definition of humility and pride.
After her first cancer recovery I had the pleasure to cook her 60th birthday dinner. She didn't turn her nose up at any of it and actually ate my cooking. I'll take that as praise as this was the best I was likely to get. But the last thing I ever cooked for her was at the Father's Day barbecue at my cousin's house in 2014, not too long before she died. This time she took the time to praise my chana chat and the barbecue chicken. She took the time to say a lot of things to everyone.
Since she died, I haven't been able to really cook good Indian much less Bengali food. My lately, I have been craving chicken korma which is a curried chicken cooked in a yogurt sauce. I found recipes online and in books which didn't work very well. My father suggested I call my mother's sister in Atlanta and ask her for the recipe because she cooks it very well. Ah the wonders of modern technology where you can leave a Facebook message for your aunt and she calls you on your cell phone at work to tell you the recipe so you can cook it when you get home. What's not to love? I was excited.
As I hug up the phone and walked away, I was filled with a sense of elation. With a few words scribbled on a paper and a conversation that was a mixture of English and Bengali, a piece of me was restored to me. I work with my Dad so my next stop was to go see him. He handed me a $20 after a short conversation of the recipe so I could make some for him. This was a big deal because ever since my Mom died, my father and I have lived in the same house and he has resisted all attempts on my part to cook anything for him. But that's a story for another day.
I picked up the chicken and a white Spanish onion as I really can't stand the smell of regular onions. Haven't been able to since my first pregnancy where I stood two houses down from my parents because my mother was cooking and the smell was making me nauseous. Thankfully my friend and neighbor at the time had pity on me and decided to take me to breakfast. That chicken came out amazing. The smell that permeated through the kitchen and the house reminded me of times when my mother would cook it. No it wasn't her recipe but her sister's but I figured they had to learn it from the same place, my grandmother. In a way, my aunt's recipe connected me back to my mother and for the first time, I felt happiness swell up in my heart since she died. It was the first time when memories of her wasn't a deep aching loss but filled with sweet nostalgia. Both my father and my brother loved the chicken.
I know....where is the recipe already!
Here it is....but a word of caution, it doesn't have measurements. I eyeballed it all. If you are an experienced cook, you'll be able to make adjustments. The eyes and nose are the key to this recipe. So here goes.
This is what the season chicken should look like
I used chicken thighs and drumsticks (perhaps 3-4 lbs of meat), four pieces of thighs, cleaned and cut in half and six pieces of drumsticks with the bottom and skin chopped off. I seasoned this with whole black peppers, cloves, cardamon, cinnamon sticks, ground coriander, and ground garam massala,
Step 1 Freshly diced onions, garam massala, and bay leaves cooking on olive o
Step 2 Once onions are soft and caramelized add freshly chopped ginger, garlic, ground coriander and a little salt
This is what it should look like when it's ready for the chicken
Once they had softened I added the chicken, brought it up to heat, covered it and let it simmer at low until the water started to render. I did this for maybe 30-40 minutes.
Step 4 Mix ground coriander and sugar with plain non-fat yogurt
Step 5 Push chicken to side and add yogurt mixture slowly into the sauce
Mix the rest of the chicken and sauce together.
I covered it and cooked the chicken it on low for another 30 minutes or so. The key thing to remember is that the total cook time was about an hour.
What it looks like when it's been cooking for over an hour
Double, double toil and trouble, Fire burn and cauldron bubble. That's how you reduce the sauce Very crucial to recite Shakespeare at this point
At last you have Chicken Korma
Remember - depending on how thick you like you sauce this could be between 15 - 30 minutes.
He was born, the love of my life, on this day, over 6 years ago. He was purple and I remember my mother's careening cry and his father repeatedly crying "this isn't how it's supposed to be." You see, he was purple and wasn't breathing. That was but a moment and for that moment, he was whisked away from me to spend the first two days of his life in the NICU.
Our first meeting
Today, I feel the passing of my mother, that old wound like it was made yesterday. The missing part of me, the broken part of me, the grief that overwhelms me, I feel it more keenly than I have in a long time. I knew this day would come. It was inevitable. Now it's here.
the newest link on the unbroken chain
I am choosing to move through day, not as if nothing ever happened but rejoicing in what did happen, the birth of my son. You see, that little boy impacted my life more than anyone I know. He changed me in ways I never anticipated. He showed me the depths of me, the breadth of me, and when I thought I couldn't go on anymore, he showed me exactly how strong I really am as he anchored me and pulled me back from the abyss.
my son and me, motherhood
Happy birthday, my love
We all seek a connection, a link to another living person. I was linked to someone, the woman inside of whom God fearfully and wonderfully created me. Then she simply slipped away, leaving me alone to figure it out on my own. She was right though, when she said she knew I was going to be ok. Since she left me, I have found a way back to myself, granted its a new self, but I am moving forward, holding onto a little pair of hands, that's quickly growing big everyday.
Today, despite the grief and pain that rings loud within me, I am celebrating life, the life of a little boy who came into mine and completely changed it. Somehow, he made me better.
I walked by
your picture the other day and your smile staring back at me seemed like a
distant memory. You’ve become someone I
used to know, like the elderly Korean neighbor you used to always greet, whose
grandson is now in middle school. I
hardly remember her. You’re an image
from my past, like your neighbor slowly walking past your house on her cane
who always stopped with a friendly greeting but in the impatience of my youth I
simply wanted to move on. Except I can’t
seem to move past this grief. Like
countless amputees, you’re just the ghost of a limb I once had. I can feel you there if I reach far back in
my memories. I was surprised by your
image as I walked past it. The fleeting
thought entered my mind that you were my mother. There are pictures of you everywhere. The one that still cripples me is the one
with you and your grandson. You both
have the same exact smile and the way you are holding onto each other it’s as
if you knew this moment would have to last.
I drove
over six hours with the husband and son you left behind to a place where I had
always dreamt of going. I’m sitting here
in the dark, on bench and writing beneath the light of the moon and street
lights. The sound of cars and trickling
water from a small fountain with a pineapple on it, serenade me. Your grandson were so excited to go on
vacation. I needed to desperately sleep
on a real bed. If you hadn’t died, I
would have bought my bed months ago. The
mattress has a huge dent from my ever changing weight through two pregnancies. It really needs to be replaced. Except for some strange reason I keep
remember that it was an anniversary present from you.
I dreamt of
this weekend but then I dreaded it too.
I don’t remember when we last went on a family vacation together. I think it was my cousin’s wedding. You would have been proud of him. But then you don’t use that word. You preferred humility. Maybe because English is our second language
that our take on the words vary. Or
maybe we were never meant to be of one accord.
Yet there are times I catch a glimpse of myself, a limb, a silhouette, a
gesture, something that’ll catch my breath.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I think I see you but I know you’re not
there.
This is
your timeshare. You should be here. You should have seen your grandson, how proud
he was that he overcame his fear and actually swam. They can’t wait to go back in tomorrow. I’ll probably join them. You would love the cruise we’re taking
tomorrow. You liked that sort of
thing. We passed a Walgreens on the way
here. My dad remembered how it’s your
favourite store and talked about you always finding one near every hotel where
you happened to be vacationing. But like
your pictures, these reminiscences are pointless. I have a life to live and since you’ve been
gone, your absence seems to take me farther away from who I was. Or maybe it is in your absence that I am
finally coming into my own, removed from that large shadow you cast over my
life.
Truth be
told, I miss your shadow. I grew into
the woman I am beneath your shade. Now
the sun scorches me. Yet, I am still
standing because while I stood beneath you, my roots had grown deeper than I
realized. There is a serenity here in
the dark, the sound of the night enfolding me in its embrace. It is an unusual place to write. But then I was never usual was I? I wish you could have simply told me the
truth and not hid behind the pretense of humility. In the end, the legacy we leave behind are
our words. I made sure to tell your
grandson how proud I was of him. It was
a big deal for him to go for a swim. He
overcame his fear. He is an over comer.
I think in
death you finally became the mother I needed.
I can cherish your memory and who you inspire me to be without dealing
with the myriad facets of your personality.
I don’t think there is anyone who doesn’t feel your absence
tonight. But I think we are
healing. We are beginning to see a
picture of what your family looks like without you. It is hard.
Maybe it will never become easy.
But we are trying. At the end of
the day, it is what any of us can do.
So after
all the dreading and the stressing, I have come to a simple conclusion. God never gives you more than you can
handle. So you have to trust him and
yourself, because if he’s allowing you to go through the valley, not only will
he see you thru but he has already equipped you to deal with what the valley
holds. Waiting and asking God what his
will is for your life is fruitless. If
you really want to know what God’s will is for your life, you have to stop and
listen to the answer. But most
importantly, you must find the courage to not only boldly accept the answer but
act on it. Sometimes, you really have to
remember to look past the trees and notice the forest in all its majestic
vastness. Only then can you truly
appreciate the raw beauty that surrounds you.
I hate it
that you are gone. But like any amputee,
I am learning to live without you. I am
living better without you than I did with you.
Perhaps that is the real lesson of motherhood, letting go, of your
mother and your child. Life is but a
fleeting moment. We are born and we will
die. The only thing that really matters
is the size of our footprint while we were here. It’s not about fame or fortune because they
come and go with the wind, it is about the impact we have in the lives of those
who allow into the sanctuary of our family.
“I’m Trading My Sorrows” was one of my mother’s favorite
songs. I haven’t actually been avoiding it, rather I have been not
actively sought to listen to it. I’m not sure if it’s one and the same
thing. However, the chorus hasn't been far from my mind. So I
Googled the verse. I have finally found a tool that actually lets me look
up Bible verses when I have a vague idea of the words that’s in the
verse. It directed me to Psalm 30:5. How could I possibly just look
up the verse without reading what came before and after?
Now, I don’t claim to be a theologian, a biblical or
rabbinical teacher, or pastor, or preacher, or anything other than
myself. I've read Psalm 30 before. Only this time I was facing personal stress inducing situations, and feeling overwhelmingly
depressed and discouraged. I was simply trying to find something to latch onto,
a word, anything to try to find my way out of this sea of despair I was
quickly sinking into. I wanted God’s reminder that “weeping may endure for
a night, But joy comes in the morning” (Psalm 30:5). What I found was more than anything I expected. The heading for this psalm says it was a song of the blessedness of answered prayers and it was sung at the dedication of the house of David. However, as I read the words, a picture began to form of a night in Gethsemane, a man praying with such
passion that his sweat and tears became droplets of blood. In the midst of David’s
psalm, a picture of Jesus’s grief, his obedience, his suffering, his victory,
his resurrection began to emerge.
1 I will extol You, O Lord, for You have lifted
me up,
And have not let my foes rejoice over me.
2 O Lord my
God, I cried out to You,
And You healed me.
3 O Lord, You
brought my soul up from the grave;
You have kept me alive, that I should not go
down to the pit.
4 Sing praise to the Lord, you saints of His,
And give thanks at the remembrance of His holy name.
5 For His
anger is but for a moment,
His favor is for life;
Weeping may
endure for a night,
But joy comes in the morning.
6 Now in my
prosperity I said,
“I shall never be moved.”
7 Lord, by Your
favor You have made my mountain stand strong;
You hid Your face, and I was
troubled.
8 I cried out to You, O Lord;
And to the Lord I made
supplication:
9 “What profit is there in my blood,
When I go down to
the pit?
Will the dust praise You?
Will it declare Your truth?
10
Hear, O Lord, and have mercy on me;
Lord, be my helper!”
11
You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;
You have put off my sackcloth
and clothed me with gladness,
12 To the end that my glory may sing
praise to You and not be silent.
Yet what stood out the most, literally shouted up at me, were
David’s bold words “I cried out to You, O Lord; And to the Lord I made supplication:
“What profit is there in my blood, When I go down to the pit? Will the dust
praise You? Will it declare Your truth? Hear, O Lord, and have mercy on
me; Lord, be my helper!” (Psalm 30:8-10) This is no meek cry of
desperation! This is no wail of the broken heart! This was the cry
of a King to his God, boldly making his needs heard before his God. This
is the cry of one who is confident of God’s love and care for him. This
is the bold declaration of a child secure in the love of his heavenly Father.
Why is my heart faint? Why am I afraid? Is His
promise not the same for me as it was for those who came before me? His
words says “whoever believes” “should not parish,” does that not also include
me? Where is that boldness? Will I allow my emotions to drown out
my praise? The lyricist wrote, “I will praise you through the good or
bad” because “praise is what I do.” It is not enough to simply cry out to God for help but like David I need to boldly claim God's blessings and continue to give him praise.
Shall then be like Mary the sister of Martha who chose to
sit at the feet of Jesus and listen to his words? I have dreams and goals
which are secular of nature. Shall I be divided between my two selves and
live forever with one foot in the spiritual and one in the secular? I am
Martha, concerned with the care of the secular aspects of my life. But I
long to be like Mary, to indulge in the spiritual without reservations. Martha invited Jesus
into her home and wanted to gift him with her best hospitality. But Jesus
saw to the heart of her, her worry about all the little details which really
didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Mary didn't just invite
Jesus, she chose him with every fiber of her being. Why then should this choice
be taken from her?
Free will is a powerful concept. We think of our basic
human rights, the right to life, liberty, and prosperity. Our government
gives us this. But have we ever considered what it really means to really
have those rights? Circumstance happen and will continue to happen and
very rarely can we actually control them. The more we try, like Martha,
the more overwhelmed we will feel. But what if…like David, we choose to
boldly cry out before God, pour out all our miseries, our worries, trade our “yolk”
and take up His instead? What if we “yolk” ourselves to Christ and choose life, to
boldly praise Him always and forever?
Does it mean we need to accept our circumstances and repeat
that overused cliched phrase Christians love so much? “I’m too blessed to
be stressed?” I stopped to think about it because it just seemed
insincere to me. Upon closer examination, I've come to the conclusion that
it should be spoken with boldness, as a reminder that we have chosen
Jesus and we are recipients of His blessings. Those inconsequential details of our everyday life that cause us to despair, to become stressed, cause us to falter, we can simply give it over to Him. As it says (1 Peter 5:6-7), “therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that
He may exalt you in due time, casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for
you.” .
I am blessed, with a promise that “the God of all grace, who
called us to His eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after you have suffered a
while, [will] perfect, establish, strengthen, and settle [me].” (1 Peter5:10). I have seen death. I have stared it in the face. I
have spent many hours in its presence. Like David, I can boldly claim
that I “have put off my sackcloth and [am] clothed…with gladness…[I] will sing
praise to [God] and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks to You
forever” simply because like Mary, I am choosing that which is needed, the good
part and it will not be denied me.
I realized that unless I boldly accept God’s
blessings in my life and continue to praise Him and thank Him, I will continue
to slip into that quicksand of despair and hopelessness. In all
circumstance, let’s not forget God’s advice, His promise, and finally His commandment to Joshua, "be strong and of good courage" God will
never leave us or forsake us; he’s always with us, where ever we go. Armed with this knowledge, I realize that I am free to make a choice. I chose to get up and get on with my life. I chose to take my blessings with both hands and accept them with a heart filled with gratitude. The heartaches are a part of the blessings because they have allowed me to value my blessings. My pain has shown me the depth of my courage and strength. I am determined, like David to sing His praise and give Him thanks forever.
Life doesn’t
not wait but it ever marches forward to a beat that matches the rhythm of the
living heart. The dead do not care, they
do not dream, they simply sleep an eternal slumber. If faith in Christ gives us anything it is
hope that one day this hollow pain we feel, this thorn in our flesh that
reminds us of our loss, will one day end and we will see those who have gone
before. So the choice is clear isn’t
it? Or at least it should be,
maybe. It’s been months and here I stand
at yet another crossroad. Like petals
torn from a flower, it’s time to let them go and watch the wind sweep them out
of your hand. The flower is dead. You ripped it off. The petals would have fallen off with time
anyway. But at least for a moment, you
held it in your hand, smelled its fragrance, taking in its beauty in
wonder. Now it’s time to let it go and
walk away.
Perhaps the
most powerful realization we can have is that of free will. I am not burying my pain. I have embraced it. I am not ignoring my loss and letting it
fester like a deep wound inside of me. I
acknowledge that it has healed and there are scar tissues that has formed in
its wake. I will feel them when I least
expect it. It’s a reminder that I am
still alive. I get to choose how I will
live my life, if I will live at all.
I have
keenly felt this medical history that has been handed to me without so much a
by your leave. I do wonder if I will be
struck down in similar fashion in the future.
Will cancer kill me or will dementia make me forget all the wonders of
my life? Perhaps God allows the storms
of life to come so that we can learn to be still and acknowledge that he is
still the God upon the throne. It feels
as if everything in my life is coming to a headlong collision all at the same
time and the biggest obstacle at the head of this brigade is my loss, specially
since tomorrow is Mother’s Day. I keep
thinking, maybe, just maybe if I can get through this then I will be fine.
I read two
articles today, one written by a mother and another written by a father. They were both about the loss of a
child. These articles reminded me how
close I came to losing my own son on the day he was born. My mother’s cry of anguish still echo in my
ears as I remember by body finally expelling this wrinkly purple looking child
after over twenty hours of labor. He
didn’t cry. His father’s face broke as
he kept saying this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. I remember only this absolute peace that
everything was going to be just fine. He
wasn’t breathing.
I knew
something was wrong because my midwife called the ambulance. One of the other midwife actually got to the
Birthing Center before the ambulance.
His father would later tell me of singing Amazing Grace to our son. Before they took my baby to NICU, the midwife
brought him to me so I could kiss him good-bye.
I forgot that my mother was there or anyone else and I just saw this
perfectly pink little boy and he was really quite beautiful. I didn’t get to hold my son until the day
after he was born. He was so tiny but
the moment I had him in my arms I knew I would never be the same. He changed me. He made me a mother.
Today I am
choosing to take off my hat. I will stop
straining to hear the faint echo of the word “daughter” from the past. I will stop being angry as my anger doesn’t
serve any purpose but to steal from me moments in the present. I told her I am letting her go so today I am
doing just that. I am leaving behind the
daughter and embracing the mother. This
is who I am. I am a mother. I don’t need a day to remind me of what I
have lost or one to celebrate who I am.
All I need
is this immense gratitude that I had an amazing mother who loved me the same
way I am now privileged to love my sons.
One day it will be my turn to step into the doorway of eternity. When that time comes, I will leave them
behind but until then, I can’t be distracted by grief. I need to love them as much as I can, while I
have the time. I will be with her
again. Until then, I’m here, so I’m
choosing to let her go and move on with my life. I need to.
It’s about time.
