Years ago, when John Edwards was John Kerry's vice presidential candidate, I read a story on his eldest son, Wade, who had died in a freak car accident a few years earlier at the age of 16. I remember I was crying when I read that Edwards had climbed up on the medical examiner's table in order to embrace Wade for one last time. Even though I neither knew him nor Wade, but the image of a parent facing such immense tragedy made me too sad; not knowing that someday in the future I will be in a similar boat. A few years later, when the news of his infidelity broke out, I immediately thought of his wife, the late Elizabeth Edwards. In my opinion, a bereaved mother who had survived the loss of her first-born child and was terminally-ill with cancer, did not deserve to have her heart broken again by her life-long partner. I always thought of her as a survivor and a very strong woman, and hope she is now reunited with her beloved Wade.
My grandmothers also were bereaved mothers like her, and had outlived their husbands by many years. My paternal grandmother, Aziz, had lost three of her six children at different stages: infancy, adolescence, and adulthood. She was a very strong, benevolent, generous and kind lady but not very cheerful. Shahdi's kindness and generosity reminded me of her. Maybe they have joined forces now in the other world and are helping the souls in need (although we all wish to believe that once the souls are released from their bodies on Earth, they are free and at peace and do not need any help). Who knows? It is comforting to me to envision them working side by side to help others. They would be the perfect team!
My maternal grandmother, Mamani, on the other hand, had lost two of her six children, two sons between the ages of 5 to 8. She also had lost her husband to an illness when her daughters were all very young. She by far was the strongest woman I have ever known. She was a strong advocate of women's rights and education, and had naturally been transformed into a feminist through her life experiences as a bereaved parent and a single mother of four girls. She was tough, but at the same time, very cheerful and optimistic about life in general, despite her multiple losses. When I was growing up, she was my role model and still is to this day. She passed away in 1997 in her tenth decade of life.
Both of these ladies were strong women, but their strengths were concentrated in different areas. Unfortunately, I did not know them before they lost their children, so it is impossible for me to say how much their characters and outlook on life changed due to the losses they had suffered. It is said that tragedy affects people in different ways. The loss of a child, as the ultimate tragedy in life, is supposed to affect the parents in many ways. Some parents may never recover from the depths of despair and depression, some may try to focus their attention on their other children or grandchildren if they are fortunate to have them, some may focus more on work, some may fill their time with as much activity as possible in order to leave no time for doleful thoughts, some may energetically pursue a cause that was important to their departed child, some go back to college, some get divorced, some remarry or have new babies, some get softer and calmer, some become bitter and angry. I guess how parents react to the loss of a child is as varied as the parents' characters and dispositions. Aziz's kind heart and generous disposition were unchanged by grief but her cheerfulness did not survive the tragedy. Unlike her, Mamani kept her optimism, but to some degree, lost her compassion for others who were outside of her immediate family circle. Her heart became harder after her losses and became obsessed with the well-being of her daughters and grandchildren. Nothing else was as important to her as them. She protected them like a lioness watching over her cubs.
When I started my grief journey eight months ago from today, I had no idea where I would end up as time would pass. My journey still continues, but so far, I think I am neither on Mamani's path, nor on Aziz's. I am carving a path of my own. I have not lost my compassion for others, but I have also become tougher, particularly when dealing with ordinary struggles of life. I now have less tolerance for whiners and complainers; less need for material objects, and more appreciation for family and good friends.
Shahdi has taught me many lessons in her absence. The most important is to be aware at all times of the instability of life, and therefore, to cherish every moment, to not take life for granted, to appreciate the old friends and family who have been showering us with their love and support, and to appreciate the new friends who have taken us under their wings. Of course, I have learned a lot more from Shahdi in the past eight months but I will write about the rest at another time.
The one thing that has not changed Shahdi joon, is our love and longing for you, our darling beautiful bright daughter. You are missed in your childhood home, in your hometown, and everywhere else we go. I love you my precious. RIP.
My grandmothers also were bereaved mothers like her, and had outlived their husbands by many years. My paternal grandmother, Aziz, had lost three of her six children at different stages: infancy, adolescence, and adulthood. She was a very strong, benevolent, generous and kind lady but not very cheerful. Shahdi's kindness and generosity reminded me of her. Maybe they have joined forces now in the other world and are helping the souls in need (although we all wish to believe that once the souls are released from their bodies on Earth, they are free and at peace and do not need any help). Who knows? It is comforting to me to envision them working side by side to help others. They would be the perfect team!
My maternal grandmother, Mamani, on the other hand, had lost two of her six children, two sons between the ages of 5 to 8. She also had lost her husband to an illness when her daughters were all very young. She by far was the strongest woman I have ever known. She was a strong advocate of women's rights and education, and had naturally been transformed into a feminist through her life experiences as a bereaved parent and a single mother of four girls. She was tough, but at the same time, very cheerful and optimistic about life in general, despite her multiple losses. When I was growing up, she was my role model and still is to this day. She passed away in 1997 in her tenth decade of life.
Both of these ladies were strong women, but their strengths were concentrated in different areas. Unfortunately, I did not know them before they lost their children, so it is impossible for me to say how much their characters and outlook on life changed due to the losses they had suffered. It is said that tragedy affects people in different ways. The loss of a child, as the ultimate tragedy in life, is supposed to affect the parents in many ways. Some parents may never recover from the depths of despair and depression, some may try to focus their attention on their other children or grandchildren if they are fortunate to have them, some may focus more on work, some may fill their time with as much activity as possible in order to leave no time for doleful thoughts, some may energetically pursue a cause that was important to their departed child, some go back to college, some get divorced, some remarry or have new babies, some get softer and calmer, some become bitter and angry. I guess how parents react to the loss of a child is as varied as the parents' characters and dispositions. Aziz's kind heart and generous disposition were unchanged by grief but her cheerfulness did not survive the tragedy. Unlike her, Mamani kept her optimism, but to some degree, lost her compassion for others who were outside of her immediate family circle. Her heart became harder after her losses and became obsessed with the well-being of her daughters and grandchildren. Nothing else was as important to her as them. She protected them like a lioness watching over her cubs.
When I started my grief journey eight months ago from today, I had no idea where I would end up as time would pass. My journey still continues, but so far, I think I am neither on Mamani's path, nor on Aziz's. I am carving a path of my own. I have not lost my compassion for others, but I have also become tougher, particularly when dealing with ordinary struggles of life. I now have less tolerance for whiners and complainers; less need for material objects, and more appreciation for family and good friends.
Shahdi has taught me many lessons in her absence. The most important is to be aware at all times of the instability of life, and therefore, to cherish every moment, to not take life for granted, to appreciate the old friends and family who have been showering us with their love and support, and to appreciate the new friends who have taken us under their wings. Of course, I have learned a lot more from Shahdi in the past eight months but I will write about the rest at another time.
The one thing that has not changed Shahdi joon, is our love and longing for you, our darling beautiful bright daughter. You are missed in your childhood home, in your hometown, and everywhere else we go. I love you my precious. RIP.
No comments:
Post a Comment