Where I am today..

The past few weeks have been an exercise in patience. It was the years anniversary since my sons passing. It just went so fast and so much things have happened in the inbetween time. Some good. Some bad. But always marred with the knowledge that Al-Haarith isnt here anymore. The other day I spoke to a good friend of mine here in NYC  and she said to me that I had to keep on living. I had mixed feelings about what she said. Have I stopped living? Am I wallowing in my own grief? I dont think that I have. Time forces me to move on. I cant avoid the day turning into the night and the night turning into the day. I cant “make” time stop. I dont have that power. Can the death of my son be compartmentalised into a drawer thats entitiled “A Day in the life of Myopic Vision”? I dont think so.

Losing him is the most traumatic event of my life and I have been through trauma. I thought being divorced and tryinh to raise three sons in the aftermath in the midst of the most extreme difficulty was the worst thing. I thought staying in a motel room in Ohio for the best part of a month was hard. Allah knows how I found the $250 a week that was needed to pay for that rental. But now. Losing him was the worst and Im telling you that time does force you to move on but it does not heal the hole that I have in my heart.

I can smile. I have to smile because the opposite of not smiling for me is a dark place where no one can reach me. A place where I wake up with a weight on my heart and progresses to me falling asleep only to wake up unable to breathe. Thats how it gets me at times. The imability to breathe. As if my brain goes on strike for a few seconds. Its scary but I have come to accept that this is part of my pain, My grief and now the new found existance that I have to endure.

I had a lot of anger at the time of my sons aniversary. I was angry because there were people who were supposed to have been helping me at the time of Al-Haariths death that ended up being more of a fitnah.

I miss my son more than words can say. This isnt like your mother passing. Its not like your brother. This was my 13 yr old son. The son that I remember rubbing lotion into his feet in order to show him why it was important to keep the skin moist. The son that I used to watch Heroes and Lost with. The son who used to carry ALL the bags of groceries when I came from the store. The son who said he wasnt that strong. The son who coughed. The son whom Allah took with no warning.

I miss him. I will be blogging more. I have a plan and I want to execute it. This blog will facilitate that end.

Thank you for being here for me. Thank you for checking up on me and seeing if I was ok. Thank you.

Aaishah

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