I have always had this wish to see the stories that I read in books, alive in this world. When I read the Pride and Prejudice, I wanted to meet a strong woman who would be standing up for herself, when I read Gone with the wind I wanted to meet Scarlet o Hara; Forty Rules of Love made me yearn to meet someone like Shams. What I never wished witnessing was a story right out of The Lovely Bones, though honestly I was being defensive as I work with trauma victims. But it is like you come across something frightening and you just pretend it doesn’t exist but then there it is glaring at you and you sit there dumbstruck.
Losing a loved one to death is very painful but then this pain varies depending on the loss. The highest intensity of this pain is experienced by a mother who loses her child. A mother’s love is the reflection of God on this earth, she raises her child in her womb for 9 months and these 9 months are more significant than her entire life put together. She forms a bond with the child that is unbreakable no matter how far the child strays from her, just the thought that the child is happy and content somewhere makes her happy in her part of the world. She can sense what the child feels and only she knows what would make the child feel better because it was through her that Allah created him, because the blood in his veins came from her blood and the first contact that he had with the world was through her. She feels like she is the connection between him and this world, she wants to keep him safe just like she did in the first 9 months and her heart misses a beat every time he makes an unplanned move.
This delicate heart of a mother that beats with that of her child is shattered when a part of her very own being is taken away from her, to the world from where none came back. She knows that he is safe somewhere with God but she can’t see him, she can’t feel him, and above all she couldn’t protect him. Her child creates this void inside of her that she keeps on falling into again and again but every time she rises empty handed and bruised.
I met one such mother today, she lost her child in the Army Public School Attack. Time has moved on but her void keeps on growing, I was just looking at her and thinking would she ever be able to move past this void but then how do you forget someone whose reminder is your very own being. And to think that there are so many mother who have lost their children so young to these acts of terrorism my heart just sinks because to incapacitate a mother means to handicap an entire family. Every single member goes into a struggle of their own, not aware of each other’s struggles but being enclosed in a wall of grief. And when finally this wall of grief wears off, they are all different people, not knowing each other and having come too far off from where they started off. What connects them is that grief but it is the same thing that separates them. My prayers go out to all the families who are suffering, praying for their strength so that they can face their grief together. And to all the mothers who are trying hard to find what they have lost, the child lives within them but they would know it when the grief wears off, till then the agony will tear their heart.