My grumbling stomachs reminds me that I'm fasting during Ramadan. The fast this year in the long Summer days is harder than last year. At times I complain that I'm so hungry but I know that at the end of the day I will fill my stomach to its limit from a table over flowing with food. At the end of each day of fasting I bow my head and thank God for the blessed meal and company. This year I am extra thankful and extra blessed. This year I'm with my family, fasting, preparing meals, praying, and eating together. Also this year I have an extra prayer of thanks to God, for giving me my mother.
My parents moved last year in Ramadan and in that same month already full of changes for my mother, she discovered two lumps in her breast. I felt them, "I don't know what this is," she told me. A fear of what it could be crept through me, I prayed that I was wrong. The doctor confirmed my fear. I left my job and city to go be with her through her chemo therapy. In a new town with no friends or familiar surrounding, she needed one of us. I spent the weeks with her, cooking meals that her stomach could handle, massaging her legs and arms when the sharp pain tore through them, letting her cry when all of her hair fell off, and trying to be optimistic for her. Her strong will to make it through her treatment and pain showed me a strength that I have never experienced before. The time I spent with her was a blessing and I thanked God for allowing me to be with her. I prayed that the cancer would go away and that she would make it to the end.
A year later to this Ramadan, she is cancer free. She came back to join us for Ramadan, hugging us all and happy to be back in her city with her children. Her presence in the house brings about the Ramadan spirit. "Do you want chicken biryani?" was the first thing she asked, "Yes!" It's been too long since I've had her chicken biryani. Her hair is growing back, right now it's a short stylish look. "You look younger with this style" we all tell her. She smiles pulling her finger through the strands. We all sit down to eat her biryani, the smell intoxicating us. I bow my head and say a prayer of thanks, a real deep thanks for everything at the table. My hunger is forgotten, all I care is that my mom is back sitting next to me.
My parents moved last year in Ramadan and in that same month already full of changes for my mother, she discovered two lumps in her breast. I felt them, "I don't know what this is," she told me. A fear of what it could be crept through me, I prayed that I was wrong. The doctor confirmed my fear. I left my job and city to go be with her through her chemo therapy. In a new town with no friends or familiar surrounding, she needed one of us. I spent the weeks with her, cooking meals that her stomach could handle, massaging her legs and arms when the sharp pain tore through them, letting her cry when all of her hair fell off, and trying to be optimistic for her. Her strong will to make it through her treatment and pain showed me a strength that I have never experienced before. The time I spent with her was a blessing and I thanked God for allowing me to be with her. I prayed that the cancer would go away and that she would make it to the end.
A year later to this Ramadan, she is cancer free. She came back to join us for Ramadan, hugging us all and happy to be back in her city with her children. Her presence in the house brings about the Ramadan spirit. "Do you want chicken biryani?" was the first thing she asked, "Yes!" It's been too long since I've had her chicken biryani. Her hair is growing back, right now it's a short stylish look. "You look younger with this style" we all tell her. She smiles pulling her finger through the strands. We all sit down to eat her biryani, the smell intoxicating us. I bow my head and say a prayer of thanks, a real deep thanks for everything at the table. My hunger is forgotten, all I care is that my mom is back sitting next to me.
No comments:
Post a Comment