My brother and my son were born exactly 25 years and 51
weeks apart. Their birthdays fall on the same day, exactly a week
apart. While I was pregnant with my oldest son, I kept telling my brother
that my son was going to steal his birthday. My son was considerate
enough to arrive a week before his Mama’s birthday. Why am I focusing on
birthdays? It’s easier to focus on the events that we celebrated before
heading down this road we’re on.
For as long as we can remember, ever since our oldest was
born, my other half and I have wanted to have his birthday party out of
doors. His first birthday, we gave in and let his grandparents throw him
a huge birthday (which he slept through). It was indoors. His
second birthday was also indoors. I believe it was held at his
grandparents along with his third birthday. My mother had her first
surgery right before his second birthday so we put off celebrating his and his
Mama’s birthday until after her surgery. She put off her second surgery
until after their birthdays.
I think my son’s third birthday might have been pretty
uneventful. His fourth birthday was at Chuck-E-Cheese. It really is
a place where a kid can be a kid and sometimes, adults too. He had a
chance to play with his grandparents, including his Dida. I guess I
should translate the names I’m using. Maternal uncle is called Mama and
maternal grandmother is called Didima. I called my maternal grandmother
Dida and passed the name onto my sons. Except now I realize that the baby
will probably never learn to call his grandmother Dida. She’ll just be a
picture he vaguely remembers.
This year, for my son’s fifth birthday, at the last minute
his father and I decided to have a party at the park. He was getting
ready to finish up his first year of school and wanted all his school friends
there. It was the only safe course of action as my mother wasn’t exactly
in the best of health. She had been looking very ill but I didn’t say
anything. I was worried. I should have said something but I know no
one wanted to hear my worst fears voice aloud. This has always been the
way in my family. I find it very annoying.
My mom went to the park briefly. She stayed for a
bit. She fussed over everything. I was impatient with her.
She eventually left to go home. She hadn’t been eating well and she had
been feeling very poorly besides. I told my worry to shut the f*^&
up. Literally. Sometimes, we should say whatever we want and the
consequences be damned. To hell with stepping on people’s toes.
On the Thursday before my brother’s birthday, she went to
the emergency room. She had spent the night vomiting and my father took
her to the urgent care center the next morning.
They told him to take her to the emergency room. She had pneumonia
and they put her on antibiotics while waiting for various other test
results. But as it turned out and looked, it was more than just
pneumonia. The word cancer got injected into air turning it toxic.
I held my breath and let it go finally. My worst fear was staring me in
the face. I knew that damn thing was bound to rear its head sooner or
later.
They wanted more tests. It was the first time I ever
spent the night at the hospital. You should know that I hate
hospitals. My second son was born in a hospital. Since I was not
the hospital’s patient, I left soon as the midwife cleared me to leave.
My son was safe in the hospital’s care. After all, his brother spent two
nights in their NICU when he was born. That’s a story for another
blog. I spent the night sleeping in a chair in my mother’s room.
Somehow, having me there with her cheered her up enormously. In
retrospect, I’m glad I got that moment.
It was the beginning of something wonderful. While I didn’t stay overnight for my son, I
have spent at least three nights in the hospital with my mom.
What makes me mad is when they saw the scans and decided
it’s probably the cancer, they stopped treating her for the pneumonia. My
internet research into cancerous growth in the lung revealed that pneumonia is
often a common thing when there are cancerous growths in the lungs. If
they had treated it, maybe she wouldn’t have gotten as weak and could have
started chemo. Maybe not. It’s too damn late to speculate.
She was released from the hospital the first time around on
her son’s birthday. She came home and I went to see her. It was the
first time ever in my life I cooked with my mother. She cooked all my
brother’s favorite foods. She made curried chicken liver, hilsha fish in
mustard sauce, shrimp malaikari, and pullau rice. That night I learned
why my curried chicken liver never quite tasted like hers. She told me
that when she was gone, I would have to make my brother his favorite foods for
his birthday. I didn’t ask who was going to make my favorite foods for my
birthday.
There are a lot of things I didn’t ask. Who’s going to
buy me clothes because sooner or later, I’m going to need new clothes?
For 36 years, she has supplied me with clothes. Who’s going to make my
favorite food for my birthday? Better yet, who’s going to remember all
those important dates of my life? I remember how I spent my 33rd
birthday at the hospital with her when she was first admitted. The day
before I was told she had cancer. The day after she had her first
surgery. Really mother!! No wonder I’m so dramatic. I had to get
it from somewhere.
Last night I cooked curried chicken liver. I used a
bit too much ground spices so there was a lot of sauce. But I remembered
to add her secret ingredient. It tasted just like hers. Except all
that sauce. So I guess I’ll be delivering a container to my brother every
birthday. When he was born, I didn’t know that I had signed up to be her
surrogate when she would make her final bow. So the only question is,
who’s going to be my surrogate when she goes?
My chest hurts. My head hurts. My shin and ankle
hurts from running. I’ve started working out. I want to give myself
a chance to be here for my kids. On this side of the fence, I get what it
feels like to slowly have your mother slip away from you. Some are not so
fortunate as to get to say good bye. So I’m burying my anger, hiding my
sorrow behind a smile. There’s time enough for that later. Right
now, I’m going to console myself with the memory of cooking my brother’s
birthday dinner a few months ago and nurse that memory with bites of this
delicious curried chicken liver which reminds me so much of the one mom
makes.
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