The phone rings. Who could call at this time. Hello, I said. I could hear crying on the other side. Hello i said, again. She is still crying with a little hello she replied. "I hate bad news" I said to myself. Yes, who is there. She replied with her name. a name I could easily recognize. What happened now. Why the crying? Are you alright? I bombarded her with a question after another. Her reply was........."he is dead, 7ammoodeh is dead".
Suddenly, I felt conflicting emotions. Part of me was happy that he died, yet another part was sad. Before you judge me on such reaction, please walk with me in the past to see the roots of such emotions on my behalf.
This woman married some years ago. We know her, close friend of the family. Her first child was a beautifull boy, and she named him mohammad. He was adorable. Healthy. Always running around. Beautiful eyes, and a magical smile. At the age of about 18 months, he suffered a heat stroke, and his temperatures shot up high. He was taken to the emergency room, where he was treated. Sadly, it was too late as the stroke damaged his brain some how.
Since then, muhammad was acting differently. That child doesn't run anymore, and even, he can't sid down no more. Then his parents noticed the symptoms of damag of the brain. His mother was devistated with this. This was her prince, hopes, and pleasure. Now, all those dreams that she had for him, shattered like a cheap glass window.
She had a couple of more children afterwards. Both healthy, but muhammad kept her agony. She never lost hope, allthough we may all do.
11 years later, mohammad died. And I honestly felt happy. Time to move on. She suffered alot for her child. She never seem to loose hope. What hope? marriage? starting his own family? education? Yet, when many of us may loose hope, she never did.
Back to the present. I told her "sheddy 7eelek emm m7ammad, inshalla ra7meh, wkhalleeh yertaa7 weyrayye7" Thats when she got angry and I could tell that her crying got worse and worse. "but who told you that I was wishing for that, thats my son" she replied. I tried to explain to her that he is now in good hands, an angel in heavens, and that Allah has chosen that he departs. Still, she was crying as is she really had hopes. Oh no bo3bo3, who are you to judge her if she didn't have hopes. She lost her son, nomatter how brain damaged this child was, thats her son, her flesh and blood, 13 years of cinstant sacrifices on her behalf, where some of us may simply give up way too sooner.
Thats when I gave the phone to my wife hoping that she comforts her a little. Now I feel sad for emm m7ammad, for she is a mother who lost a child. period. a child, not a brain damaged child. Who am I to deprive her from the moment of sadness for the departure of her son, regardless of his mental health. Who am I?
Suddenly, I realized that I didn't fully understand the heart of a mother. When we see things, we tend to analyze matters based on materialistic things (in general). yet, the heart of a mother is blind. It only sees the flesh and the soul of the child that the mother held for 9 months inside her body. She cared for this baby. So who am I to deprive her from a normal reaction any mother would have. Thats when I realized I've done wrong for such emotions. This was muhammad, and whatever dreams and hopes she had for him, are as pure and legitemate as they can get.
The above was a true story that happened to me about 2 years ago, and the mother and the child are real. God bless your soul oh muhammad, and God bless the heart of this great mother. Nomatter how hard we try to describe it's greatness, we always come short to fully and fairly describing such heart.
Crazy & random thoughts
7 years ago