The price of being alive
An essay of life, love and loss
Since losing my mum 6 months ago, I often think about her and her life and the way in which she lived it. She was 55 years old, just about to turn 56 a couple of days after her passing, and well when I think about it all, I come to realise that I only knew her for 24 of them. My mum had an entire life before I was even born, before she even became a wife at 18 and a mother at 20. She was a smart, beautiful, boisterous woman who I would be lucky to be even half of in a lifetime. I’m ashamed to admit that growing up, I used to see my mum and her role as a housewife as something that I would never want to be. Raising 5 kids, a husband who worked all week and a house to look after. Multiple curries on the table a day and the cleanest house you’d probably ever step foot into in your life, that was my mum’s life and by extension, mine. For the better half of 10 years, I came to learn the ways of living life, through my mum’s, the love she poured into me and my growth, and now I’m left with loss, not only due to her sudden death, but all that disappeared when she left this world.
I read something recently and to say I felt it deep in my core is an understatement.
what if there isn’t enough time to give her what she deserves do you think if I begged the sky hard enough my mother’s soul would return to me as my daughter so I can give her the comfort she gave me my whole life - Rupi Kaur
All I can think about throughout most of my days recently is just my mum not being here anymore. I’m consumed by thoughts about her, her life, our life and everything and nothing. I spent years not wanting to be at home, only for her to pass in the same moments as me leaving home permanently and now when I do visit home, she’s the one person I want to be welcomed by but she’s not there, just our memories. Is now a good time to mention that I got married 2 days after my mum’s funeral and left home forever? Anyways, how lucky am I to have been raised by such a wonderful woman and have her die in my adulthood where I’m now her embodiment and will try to be for the rest of my life.
In another life, my mum didn’t need to die. She’d live a long and healthy life, have grandchildren and travel the world. She’d peacefully pass away in her sleep in old age and not be taken away from me within painful seconds but that’s the reality of it all. Jannah lies under the feet of our mothers and I now wait to meet her there one day.
I sometimes think life, love and loss are so intricately intertwined that we really don’t know the art of detachment. Everything is connected for me and I can’t understand one concept without constantly thinking about the other. Is life truly a beacon of hope when all that comes with it, is eventually loss? Is life truly a beacon of hope when all you do is pour into cups that overflow in the worst way?
As a Muslim, we are always taught to remember that everything in life is written and that Allah’s plan is always greater than the one we’ve got planned for ourselves. Does this truly allow us to feel content in moments of pure devastation that something hasn’t worked out as we had wanted it? Yes and no.
“Marianne had the sense that her real life was happening somewhere very far away, happening without her, and she didn’t know if she would ever find out where it was and become a part of it.
All she knew was that when it started, she wouldn't need to imagine it anymore.”
- Sally Rooney, Normal People
My mum passing away 6 months ago was truly the shock of a lifetime and yet here I am, 6 months later, living in a new city, working a new job, creating a new identity and still waiting on texts back from people in my old life. Is this now a form of loss? Is this now a form of love? Do I mourn my old life? Yes. Am I too nostalgic? Yes. Is it my favourite part me? Maybe yes.
I think my ability to think the best of people and moments makes me who I am. That BFG optimist always excited about the next chapter in life but always able to romanticise the present to get through it. The week my mum was in hospital feels like a fever dream. Do I miss it because I was surrounded by all of my friends and family? Do I feel upset that life moves on for everyone, and some people have forgotten to check in? Benefit of the doubt’ing people so that I secretly can’t feel let down by them because I’m scared of conflict and confrontation. But then, who are we without the relationships in our life holding us accountable for who we are? Everything and nothing. To be loved is to be seen, and heard, and felt, but why are we shattered when this is not reciprocated. Perhaps we put the love others give us above the love we should give our selves. If anything, my mum dying makes me want to live life to the fullest and achieve all the dreams she couldn’t, even if that’s with or without the people who I once thought were important and loved by me.
-oh, maybe it’s okay to choose self love