Mother is a sacred word for me. For months I have been thinking what if it was possible to request God to grant a day so that I could meet and interact with my mother in her eternal abode. I know such things can’t happen unless you are at the zenith of spiritual power and your soul could traverse time and space to meet the people who have left forever.
Never mind! If such an absurd wish couldn’t be granted… at least the words are mine and I can sew my mother’s memories into words and sentences and years later when my memory would begin to fade, she would speak to me through those lines.
I recall myself as quite an extravagant child. My mother used to buy me a pack of twelve China made lead pencils. I got sick of those dull patterns on the white background printed on the pencils. But buying new set of pencils wasn’t possible until those were used up so I came up with a rather sly idea of wasting the pencils by sharpening them incessantly. A few days later I told mother that I was done with the old pencils and needed more. She was startled and said, “How could you use up all in a week… they were a dozen pencils.” “They weren’t of a good quality I suppose.” I said promptly. She thought briefly, nodded and got me the new pencils. How easy it was to get a wish fulfilled by her because she was one of those people who didn’t know how to say no or to argue at length before accepting the demand.
I always did my best not to hurt my mother. She never had to yell at me or force me to open my books as I used to work hard for every test and exam. I wasn’t an outstanding student though… but at least I was honest with my commitment. When I was in the first standard in the second term exam (the one before final) I managed to get the second position. One of the drawbacks of being teacher’s daughter is that both the good and the bad news related to exams breaks to you beforehand. So she walked up to me. I was standing in the queue attending the assembly when she lovingly held my face in the cup of her hands, the happiness seemed to have engulfed her whole being, “You’ve got the second position,” she said. I kept looking at her towering on me… not knowing how to react. I smiled too seeing her evident happiness. That day I realized that was perhaps the only thing that could make her happy so throughout my academic career I kept trying hard to stand out. I never did. But I never stopped trying.
My mother is synonymous to a thick, cool shade that would protect me from every severity in life. I got used to her protectiveness. When in late 2005 one of the most devastating earthquakes struck leaving everyone in shock and awe, I turned to my mother to take refuge in her bosom because the continual aftershocks had scared me to death. Honestly speaking, I didn’t even know what aftershocks were before I experienced them. I was deprived of sleep and had started to develop dark circles. I shared my apprehensions with her. She smiled and said in her usual gentle tone, “There is nothing to worry about.” Her words alone were enough to lift my spirits but I requested her to move to my room. I would sleep as close to her as possible with my arm wrapped around her. I am glad the calamity had provided that opportunity to me for I had not imagined in my wildest dreams that exactly a year later I’ll lose her forever.
That’s true I miss her and when I do, I close my eyes and try to recall the good times; the times when depression was just a word and not a phase. The times when her very presence was enough to help me face the challenges bravely. Somewhere I yearn to be a young child again in her protective embrace and want her to lift my face in her hands and tell me that the hard times would be over soon. The dreams would be fulfilled and you’ll get what you’ve been striving for. I miss that reassurance.
On this mother’s day everyone would express their love for mothers while I’ll be content with a silent prayer for my mother. I remember once she was watching a mother’s day show on TV where Musharraf was paying tribute to his mother. I can’t forget the glow in my mother’s eyes. At that time I thought will I ever be able to pay tribute to her on a platform like that before the whole world? Three and half years elapsed. I am the same ordinary struggling person. And this is a tribute of an ordinary daughter to her extraordinary mother.
For all the mothers are truly extraordinary and the epitome of selfless love.
Author: Ayesha Umer
