You Go Girl

I am cleaning up the living room, and just came across a scrap of paper on which MAM has scribbled something. What is the next thing I do? Duh.... I run to my laptop to blog!

"Life is what you make it. So for life to be awesome, you have to make it awesome."

You go girl.

Moving On

Whoa....just read my posting from yesterday...what a "bitch post". But unfortunately, it made me feel better. I was going to delete it, but I can't. They were my true feelings of that moment, and I can't deny them. I must acknowledge the good and bad parts of myself if I am going to remain whole.

Anyway, moving forward, I came across a letter of QMM's. It is dated 12/11/08, and was a school assignment. I guess they had to write a letter to Rachel in response to Rachel's Challenge. I hope QMM doesn't mind...I think he's getting a kick out of his work being "published". :)

Dear Rachel,
Hearing your story was very inspiring. In my letter I will explain how I plan to be an agent of change and what I want my legacy to be. I will enjoy being a better person.
How will I become an agent of change? I will be nicer to people I usually am not nice to. I will help people when they seek it. I will treat people the way I want to be treated.
What will my legacy be? I want to leave a legacy from everywhere I come from. When I leave Pond Road Middle School I want to have the school record in the mile and half mile. And an undefeated JV season and a new perfect Varsity season. In the next part of my life, I want to be known as a smart, intelligent, outgoing person.
I ACCEPT RACHEL'S CHALLENGE!
Sincerely,
Q Muzaffar

I just recalled as I was typing his letter that he had wanted to publish a story he was writing. I am going to start a new blog, and will publish all his work there. It will be open to everyone. His dream will come true.

Here's to the legacy of QMM and AMM.

not a nice posting.

i don't want 2010 to end. i don't want to enter a year that you were not a part of. i don't want to leave this year....i feel like i will be partaking of something that you will not....do you boys understand???

amm, i don't want to stop using the calendar you had made for 2010. i don't have a calendar made by you for 2011. qmm, nobody to pester to wear something warm as he would go out in a t-shirt and shorts (in the dead of winter) to jog.

and so this year, this horrible year for us, is ending. i hate 2010. this is the year that bore witness to our loss. but i don't want to leave it either. i hate march, i hate 2010, i hate pakistan, i hate the people there that saw my loss as something to gossip about. yes, i finally said it out loud, i hate pakistan. and it feels good to acknowledge that feeling. even though i love some people from there; after all, my husband and his sisters are from that place. if you read this, and are offended, i am sorry for offending you. you just may not want to read the rest.

why would i leave my sons there...in the soil of that hateful place. i should stop now. but i just want to write it one more time.

thanks a lot pakistan.  i hate you pakistan. your stupidity, lack of knowledge killed my sons. thanks a lot. i hate you, i hate you, i hate you. rot in hell.

Fragile Bubbles

I have decided, every day, I am going to make myself do something for someone other than myself. I have been focused on myself, being selfish (and not ashamed of it); doing what I can do, and avoiding what can possibly crack the fragile, soapsud bubble around me. This is my protective barrier, a thin sheen of watery, soapy liquid, blown to surround me with a breath of desperate hope, a bubble wand made of miserable joy. The bubble fluctuates in color, a myriad of shades, colors. Sometimes the bubble seems as if it's going to dissipate, pop...leaving me vulnerable and open to the world.

So, everyday, one thing for someone other than myself. Yesterday I facebooked someone I haven't been in touch with for a long time, asking how she is, how is everything going. Doesn't sound like much, but for me it's a start.

Today I am going to the mosque for my hubby. Our family is sponsoring the lecture today, and  I will be there so that he isn't alone. I already feel so anxious, but I took a xanax. Am counting on 2 of my relatives (NS and her daughter AA), as well as my daughter...we will be there for each other. As I type, I feel palpitations, heartburn is kicking in, but today this is for BAM. One day at at time.

Don't pop on me, my fragile bubble. Please.

PTSD

Is this PTSD....images are flashing into my mind. Of the steps I took to enter the place where they moved their bodies to for preparation. The garish lights of Lahore, mocking me as I climbed those concrete steps, to enter the building where my two boys were in some freezer somewhere.

Is this PTSD...I see QMM's eyes...fully dilated, not responding to light or stimuli. Not responding to my screams, my compressions, my breath.

I can't block these thoughts...I don't want to block them...I want to block them.

A Blue Christmas

I'll have a blue Christmas without you

I'll be so blue just thinking about you.

Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree

Won't be the same dear, if you're not here with me.

And when those blue snowflakes start falling

That's when those blue memories start calling

You'll be doin' all right, with your Christmas of white,

But I'll have a blue, blue, blue, blue Christmas.

Thanks Elvis.



Christmas Without You

Dear  AMM,

I look at Christmas decorations, and I think of you. I hear Christmas music, and I think of you. I hear people talking about Christmas, and I think of you.

Are you enjoying yourself up there? I can just imagine you...decorating the biggest Christmas tree ever, with the most exquisite decorations ever. It must dwarf everything around it. And you are happy, creating your Christmas tree.

I wish I could decorate it with you. I wish I could see your creation.

Love always,

Mom

Please Don't

Please don't dictate to me my relationship with God. Please don't tell me how I should communicate with God. What works for you, does not neccessarily work for me. I am happy for you that you feel spiritually connected. Why can't you be happy for me for my relationship with God? Why does it have to be your way???? Do you think you are the "pro"?????

You mean well, but you sound arrogant. You sound like " I am the expert. My relationship with God is better than your relationship with God". Oh really??????

I love you, but please stop. STOP. Don't give me religious lectures. Don't tell me what I am feeling. Don't tell me how I am supposed to feel. How do YOU know????

Plesae don't cheapen my sacred relationship with my God like that.  STOP.

Bruno Mars - Grenade

Cause what you don't understand is

I'd catch a grenade for ya

Throw my hand on a blade for ya

I'd jump in front of a train for ya

You know I'd do anything for ya

I would go through all of this

Take a bullet straight through my brain,

Yes, I wish I had died instead of both of ya.

Untitled

Delight

Eternity

Alleviating

Tempting

Heaven

Death Be Not Proud

When I was in high school, I had to read a book titled "Death Be Not Proud" by John Gunther. That book touched my heart at the time. It was written by a father, who had lost his only son. I recall thinking that to lose one's child is a fate worse than death. Now, that is my fate.

In the past few months, I thought of that book. I remembered how he had a poem in there, whose first line was the same as the title of the book. I finally looked it up yesterday, and discovered this poem was from a sonnet actually. It was titled The Holy Sonnet X, and was originally written by John Dunne.
Please let me share it with you.

Death be not proud, thou some have called thee
Mighty and  dreadful, for thou art not so,
For,those, whom thou thinkst, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst though kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

I know you mean well...but, how dare you?

I know you mean well when you say to have another baby. But really, how dare you???

Do you mean to say that my QMM and AMM are so easily replaceable? Yes, I understand that another child would bring his or her own joys, but that void left by QMM and AMM is IRREPLACEABLE. My boys are IRREPLACEABLE. Get it???

Don't try to tell me that I am wrong. When you say to have another baby, I find it insulting to the memory of my sons. How dare you. How dare you insult my sons like that. How dare you insult their memory like that. How fucking dare you.

Just stop. STOP.

I Will Not Let This Define Me.

I will not let this define me. I do not want to be known as the woman who lost her two sons. Yes, I am that person, but that is part of my whole being.

I am a person in my own right. I have achieved a lot in my life. My biggest achievements are my children. My three children. My daughter and my two sons. But I have achieved more. I work, have studied hard to get where I am, and love what I do.

I am a wife. To a guy that probably, no definitely, could have married a better person. He could have had a beautiful stunner of a wife. Someone who could cook up a storm in 10 minutes. I really lucked out when I married him.

I will NOT let this define me. Yes, this has changed me forever, but there is more to me.I will NOT LET THIS DEFINE ME.

Mudslide

I don't know why, but I feel as if I have been hit by a mudslide. I thought I was doing pretty good, in fact on Sunday I was on a high because I had felt QMM's presence. And, out of nowhere, I started slipping. As I was walking on a path that I thought would be twisted, but tolerable, I lost my footing along the way. And I slipped. I tried, to get up, but then the mudslide overcame me. It fell over me, and panic set in.
I just want to die. Die. It would free me. From agony. From the sensation of not being able to breathe. There are so many people who want to live. Parents who have cancer, and have yet to see their children grow up. Children with life threatening diseases, who have yet to experience life. Let them live, let me go. Please release me. Let me be with them. This is intolerable.
QMM, AMM, please. I am drowning and I don't care anymore.

A Turning Point

I think I have taken a significant step. On sunday, I decided something. Not because I should, but because I WANT to. Big difference between the two, you know? People have been telling me I should live for my daughter, for my husband. And every time they said it, it used to kind of, well, slide off my back, puddling at my feet. It would have no impact on me. I would sidestep this offered puddle of hope, and wallow in my loss instead.

But something happened sunday. I don't know why, but I decided I WANT to live. I WANT to be here for my daughter, help her through her ups and downs in life, for she no longer has two brothers to help her. I WANT to be here for my husband, for what we have between us is something very special. I still WANT to be with my sons, but I can't get this time back with MAM and BAM. I should enjoy my time with my family, my co-workers (who I have become very dependent on), my friends, and my patients. I will eventually die, I will eventually be with them.

Will this feeling last? I don't know....but at least I have felt this feeling, this surge of desire, for the first time. Even though part of me feels as if I am betraying AMM and QMM by wanting to live, at the same time I just know they want me to live, and not to feel guilty. The pain is still there, but I think I am learning to live with the pain. Today, when I told BAM this turning point in my grief journey, he said that he thought AMM would be happy with my choice. The next thing I knew, I was crying, and he was holding me, crying also.

But, still, this indeeed, is a turning point.

Thanks to all of you, for not giving up on me.

A Beautiful Fall Day

Dear AMM,

today I went outside. A beautiful, crisp fall day...a perfect saturday . Except, that I missed you both. What's new, right? Do you think I'm a pathetic loser for repeating myself, saying the same stuff? Do you cringe when I sit at your grave and cry for both of you? I try to be brave, I try to LIVE, but the pain is still there. Whoever said time heals all wounds, well, they lied. Time covers pain, just as dust collects on the desk in your room. But as soon as you blow away the dust, the desk is still there. Just as is the pain, the agony.

Today, when I was outside, I kept on thinking how today was the perfect day for a hayride for you and I. Remember last year when we went on the haunted hayride??? That was so much fun. Today we could have picked some pumpkins up, you could have decorated the house for Halloween as you used to. And I would have asked you to make those delicious, melt in my mouth cookies you used to whip up. We could have then snuggled in front of the fireplace, watching a movie.

What have you been doing lately? Anything exciting? Have you met any of the

famous artists? Hey, how about Lucille Ball? That would be so cool.

Well, tell QMM I said hi....I love you guys.

Love always,

Mom

Hope

Better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.

Dear God...a miracle, please?

So yesterday I had a meltdown. Major, hysterical, soul-draining meltdown. Afterwards, I said to BAM something that I had been thinking about for a while. I may sound a bit batty when you hear what I said, but just read the next few points before I tell you my conversation with BAM.

Point one: God can perform miracles. Only He is the one who can do ANYTHING...He created this world, the millions of cells in our bodies. He created this whole universe. What seems impossible to us, is something He could do without a second thought.

Point two: God (in our belief at least) tells us to ask, and He will listen. He will answer our prayers.

So I told BAM I want to ask God to bring back my boys. I want to ask for two miracles. BAM, being the supportive guy that he is, said that God can do anything and that I should ask what I want to ask for. And so I decided I am going to ask God for this miracle. I won't ask for explanations...how did He bring them back to life? I would accept my boys back, no questions asked.

And so I got ready for praying. I did the necessary ablutions, opened up the prayer rug, and did our ritual prayer. At the end, I sat on the prayer rug, ready to ask God for the return of my boys.

I couldn't do it. For, I realized suddenly, how selfish I was being. They are at peace there, they are happy, so why should I beg for their return when God has them? I can never take care of them the way He does. However much it kills me to realize this fact, it is a true fact.

And so, instead of asking God to return my sons to me, I asked Him to please tell them both that their mother loves them.

Every day I will ask God to pass this message on to them, till I am with them and can tell them myself.

Dear QMM and AMM,

yesterday your dad said we are the unluckiest people in the world. Are we? I don't know.

I had the funnest, and at times challenging, times with you QMM. You brought excitement into my life. I was so proud of you. I used to worry that something bad would happen to you, for you seemed to be pretty close to perfection...charm, looks, smarts. I was always on my toes with you around...what would you be up to next? How you used to make me laugh. I was fortunate to have had that excitement in my life for 15 years.

And AMM, you gave me love to last a lifetime. I understood you, and you understood me. You loved me so much. Your daily hugs, your daily kisses. Your warm snuggles. Your back massages you used to give me. The laughter. The pride I felt in your accomplishments. I am so fortunate to have had that love for 12 years in my life.

So, no, I am not the unluckiest person in the world. I vehemently protest that statement. I am the LUCKIEST person in the world to have had you both for my sons. I am the luckiest person to have MAM as my daughter. I am the luckiest person to have BAM as my husband. I am the luckiest person, for I have you guys waiting for me when I get to the other side.

Love always,

Mom

6 months of hell

6 months of hell.

6 months of not seeing you...except when I look at your photographs.

6 months of not talking to you...except for in my dreams.

6 months of not hearing you...except for when I call your cell phone and hear your voice on the answering machine.

6 months of not hugging you.

6 months of not feeling you next to me.

6 months of pure hell. There is no respite from it. Even in my dreams, I am searching for you.

HOW MUCH LONGER????????

Eternity

Today was a difficult day. First day of school; a new year starting, new beginnings, new hopes. QMM would have been a sophomore, and AMM would have been a 7th grader. QMM used to so look forward to the first day of school. I saw pencils yesterday at Staples that AMM used to use. I don't have to buy them anymore, nobody to buy them for now.

Today I wanted to be dead. I just wanted to fold my cards and call it a day. I figured when I have to account to God why I committed suicide, I would justify it somehow. He would understand, wouldn't He?

And then, MAM's face loomed in front of me. What kind of message would I be sending her by committing suicide? That when things are beyond bad, bail out? What would stop her from then pursuing the same path? I don't want to fail her; by taking my life, I would be not only failing her, but deserting her too.

And so I linger here, counting my blessings, but waiting for eternity. With them.

A letter to the boys

Dear QMM, and AMM,

why did you, especially you, AMM, leave me behind???? What am I supposed to do now????

AMM, the sun used to rise and set for me with your smiles. I feel lost, alone without you. The world seems so large, so empty, so joyless without you. I miss you so.

QMM, sometimes I find I cannot even think about you...it just hurts too much. You were my shining star. My world is dark without you. I miss you so.

Love always,

Mom

Labor Day

Today was my first Labor Day without you; I wish it were my last...

A question for God

Dear God,

WHY?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

Time is my friend, Time is my foe

I try to go day by day, minute by minute, second by second.

There are days I accept that you both have entered a new stage of existing, and then there are the other times. The times I am lost, broken, helpless, and keen for both of you. A simple thing such as coming across a lost sock of yours can push me to where I fall into the ever present pit that seems to be right beside me...I take one misstep and I fall into it, a deep abyss from where my tears and wails do not reach you.

I try, and will continue trying. But know this my sweet boys...every day, every minute, every second brings me closer to you.

The Muzaffar Men

Sometimes, it is so painful for me to look at my husband, BAM. I used to call him, along with my two sons, the Muzaffar Men. He is the last remaining Muzaffar man. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He wasn't supposed to be the last one left.

Sometimes I look at BAM's hair, and instead, I see AMM's hair. AMM had hair that used to 'spike up" after it got wet. He was immensely proud of this fact. He even had me take a picture of his spiky hair! He got this hair trait from his father. Now, when BAM's hair spikes up like that, I feel so sad. It's almost as if I can feel my heart cracking a little bit more.

And then there are times I see the color of BAM's eyes, and the next instant I am seeing my QMM's eyes. QMM had the same brown shade of eyes as his father. He was also immensely proud of this fact. Out of all our children, he had the lightest eyes. His sister, MAM, used to lament that SHE should have gotten those eyes. And QMM, being QMM, would just smile and sometimes (okay, not sometimes, he would always) gloat.

Sometimes I stare at BAM as he is driving, just to find a glimpse of my boys in him. Other times, I just have to look away, for the pain is too great.

A Physical Ache

Sometimes I feel such a strong, overwhelming ache to hug both of you. My arms feel empty. They kind of tingle, for lack of a better word to describe the sensation. It's as if they know they are being deprived of something, and are protesting. I feel like I want to open them in an open arms position as if to hug the both of you. But you both aren't there to enter my embrace. My chest feels cold, waiting for the warmth I used to get from your bodies. I feel bereft. This ache seems to pierce into my body, like a virus entering me and spreading throughout my body. This ache will be with me forever.

A Wooden Raft In An Endless Ocean

I feel like I am on a wooden raft with BAM and MAM. Just the three of us, we are all three survivors of an unbearable catastrophe. We are the surviving wreckage. We float, the three of us together, on this makeshift raft. We huddle together, traumatized, shocked.

The raft we are on is made of rotting wood. It is a makeshift raft. Tied together with thick, frayed, worn out rope. At times, pieces of wood start drifting off, and I scramble to retrieve them. So that the three of us stay together, and don't drift away from each other, or lose each other.

The ocean surrounds us. The large, empty, endless ocean surrounds us as we sit hunched together on this small raft. It almost seems as if the waves are purposefully trying to thwart us; rocking our raft over bigger and bigger waves. All we can hear are the ocean waves, lapping at the edge of our helpless raft. Otherwise, it is silent.

Please don't drift away from me too, my BAM and MAM. Otherwise, I will have no purpose left for trying to navigate the raft, to hold it together, to not give up. For if you are both gone too, then I will slip into the ocean, allowing myself to sink to the bottom of the ocean.

I Finally Made the Effort To Blog!

I have been writing. Writing on scraps of paper, my thoughts, my emotions. Thoughts and emotions that I write for Cut Onions. Yet, when the time comes for me to transcribe them onto Cut Onions, I have been unable to. It seems like such a paramount task, it takes so much effort for me to even think of doing something. Just getting through the day is so taxing and wearing. Even going on Facebook, reading a book, seems like something that requires so much effort. The thing is, I want to do these things, but just can't get the energy to do them.

I now have the ability to sit on the sofa. I can just imagine your reaction: yes, Abroo, we ALL can do that! No, what I mean is to just sit, and do absolutely nothing. I sit on the same sofa that I used to sit on and snuggle with AMM. I wrap myself in the same blanket AMM and I used to wrap ourselves in together while watching TV. I now keep my cellphone, laptop, and novel besides me. But again, it's too much effort to pick them up. Maybe this blog willl be posted, maybe it will get lost like the countless others I have scribbled on scraps of paper.

Farewell TB

So, I think I have reached another milestone in my journey to come to terms with what fate has dealt us. Just to recap, so far my accomplishments include:

• a major meltdown just once a week now;


• going back to the gym (QMM's hangout area).

And now...I no longer depend on my Therapy Bag. TB, as I affectionately called it in my mind; yes, I know, that sounds kind of gross. That's why I never said to anyone "hey, I'm coming over and I'm carrying TB with me". I mean, really, how wrong does that sound?

TB was very important to me. It was a bright pink, obscenely oversized carrying bag. In it, I had crammed items that I felt helped me and without which I could not survive. It contained numerous, totally unrelated items. TB carried a crochet hook and afghan I was working on, a needlepoint kit, a book to read, a copy of the Quran, a drawing pad with a set of drawing pencils, a journal, and my laptop. That's all!

I lugged TB around wherever I went. I would start panicking just thinking about stepping out of the house without my precious TB (and yes, I know that still sounds gross). Wherever I went, so did my TB. Wherever TB was , that's where I was.

The items in there were at my disposal to help me focus, I guess, on something other than the reality I wanted to escape from. Anything to get my thoughts away from my living nightmare.

I don't know when, but I no longer rely on TB anymore. I don't even recall when I stopped depending on TB and the items it contained. But TB helped me at a time when I needed it the most. This big, bulky, bright pink bag was my best friend in the worst situation.

Thanks TB. I hope I never need you again.

A Mother's Prayer

Dear QMM,

there is nothing much I can do for you now; all I can do is pray for you now. I always include in my prayers a request to God that He transfer any of your sins and transgressions onto my soul. Let me be accountabe for them. I want your soul to be free, pure, and unecumbered. May you soar in the sky and beyond, as high as your heart desires. May you shine brighter than any star in the infinite universe. May you be as peaceful as a new moon in a cloudless, silent night. May you feel as much joy as when I first held you in my arms. May your eternal life be better than the life you had with us in this mortal world.

I love you.

Just a Poem

My sons, I hope you know how much I love you.

My life is so painfully empty now without you.

No more monopoly games that include you.

No more vacation trips with the both of you.

Sorrow fills every pore of my being.

What is it that I'm supposed to be doing?

I miss the way I would tickle you.

I miss the way I would endlessly tease you.

Life is now so unbearable without you.

I keep on thinking, what to do without you?

Sorrow fills every pore of my being.

What is it that I'm supposeed to be doing?

AMM and His Early Social Skills

So, today I was remembering some of my AMM's antics when he was much younger. I'm talking about before his preschool days. I always thought at that point of his life he was different. Being ignorant of developmental delay warning signs, I chalked up his being "different" to being pampered since he was the youngest, as well as having asthma. Now I know it was part of his Aspergers.

I was remembering (and yes, chuckling) when we went to the neighbors house. Her big golden retriever came lopping up to us and licked AMM's face. AMM responded by licking him back on his nose. My neighbor was aghast, "No, don't do that!" she said, as I held him back from the dog before he started further licking exchanges. Actually, as I recall, the dog even seemed taken aback!

At that time of his life we would watch Blue's Clues, a show about a dog named Blue (and of course, he was the color blue) along with his owner, whose name I can't recall. One day, Blue was licking his owner's face. AMM must have thought that was appropriate behavior, so turned to me and started licking my face! No, I told him, dogs do that, not humans! He got the message...as far as I know!

And finally, I was remembering how, after watching a show with cows grazing in the field, he proceeded to the front lawn, got down on all fours...and then started to "graze" on a dandelion. In other words, eating it. Guess what my reaction was ???? "No, AMM, people do not do that. Animals do that." Again, as far as I know, he got the message!

I was and am so lucky to have had such a great son. He overcame so many obstacles in his short life, left a legacy of his artwork for us, memories filled with laughter and love. He gave me so much love, made me feel so special. Even though I ache to have him back, I also realize it was an honor to have been his mother. Thank-you God, and thank-you AMM. You were, and are, the best.

A Dream

The past few months I have been having dreams, I know I have them, but I can't recall them. I wake up feeling that the boys were in them, it's just a sense that I have. Last week I woke up feeling that I had seen the boys in my dream, but could not remember ANYTHING about the dream. How frustrating.
Last night I had another such dream. But this time I remember a smidge of it. The boys were there, visiting us. I don't remember the details, I do know that I am forgetting a lot of this precious dream. But I do remember my AMM...he was constantly hugging me throughout the dream. And my QMM...he was hanging with myself, MAM, and BAM. They were there, they said, to celebrate QMM's 16th birthday with us. For those of you that don't know, his 16th birthday was to be December 15th of this year.
At the end of this dream, the two of them climb a staircase and say that it is time for them to leave,"we came to celebrate Q's 16th birthday with you". I woke up, feeling a warm feeling, as if I had been hugging AMM. I feel they visited me last night.
But I was perplexed. Why did they focus so much on QMM's 16th birthday? I was discussing it with my friend at work. She is my personal dream interpreter (but she doesn't know it!). And what she said made perfect sense to me. QMM wants us to celebrate his 16th birthday when it comes around. As soon as she said that, it all made perfect sense to me. And that is so QMM, isn't it?
Okay QMM, we will celebrate your birthday, and I know you both will be there with us.
Thank-you boys, thank-you.

A Brief Note

I feel so drained. So drained without you both. Today as I was driving to work I was remembering how you , QMM, as a baby would be in your crib. In the morning, when I would come into your room, you would almost always be up already. You would be standing on those pudgy legs, looking at the door expectantly, waiting for someone to come in. As soon as you'd see me, you would break out into a big smile and start bouncing up and down. Remember how I used to tease you that when you would get married I was going to make a slide show of your baby pictures, with the pudgy thighs?
And AMM, today I realized I don't think you were meant to make it to adulthood. You were too innocent for this corrupt and often cruel world. It was just not meant to be. But why couldn't we have left together? Why did you leave me behind?
I can't write anymore today. It's unbearable without you both.

God Surround Me

I want to die, it's not a lie.

What a coward I am, for I will be damned.

God surround me with your grace,

So I do not make a fatal mistake.

Thoughts creep into my once happy mind.

But I push them away, or else my goal I will not find.

Till I Get To You

This pain, this pain for you,

It's driving me insane.

I look everywhere for you,

But totally in vain.

I try to live this life,

Something I feel I cannot do.

It's just an existence now,

Till I get to you.

This Is It

Oh God, I am in a situation that I cannot improve. I can't research and buy products like I used to for helping AMM. I can't go back to school and study like I did when I hurt my back repeatedly. I can't switch from floor nursing to a supervisory role like I did when I hurt my hand. This is it, this is my life now.

They are both gone forever. This is it. I can't do anything to bring them back, to improve the situation. I accept this, but it hurts so much. This morning when I woke up all I could think of was AMM. How he would come early in the morning or late at night knocking on our bedroom door. He would be standing there, in his pj's, asking if he could come in and snuggle. I never said no. He was the best snuggler. He would come into our bed, cuddle up with me, and fall asleep (usually).

I pine for him. This feeling is so strong, so overwhelming. Just to have him again, back in my life. Just to be with him. Just to talk to him. Just to touch him. Just to hold him. Just to laugh with him. This sense of pining feels like a tsunami wave. It just hits me, rendering me incapable of escaping. It pushes me under, into the deep recesses of the wave. I don't know if I'm in the ocean or on land; all I know is that I am engulfed, swamped. Flailing in the abyss, that is how I pine for AMM. And AMM, you are nowhere to be found. Nowhere. I miss you.

Back to the Beach

Today, BMM, MAM, KA (my sister), and I went to the beach. The beach that I used to take all the kids to when they were younger. They had so much fun there. We would sometimes meet up with cousins (in fact, it was KS...one of the infamous cousins) who introduced us to that particular beach. We also went there with a neighbor and her kids many times. MAM and QMM would be in the water together facing the waves. AMM was more like me, cautious. The first few years of his life he was in fact scared to be even touched by the water. As he overcame his phobia of water (bath time used to be torture also in his younger years), he started to be near the water, though not in it. For me, though, that wa a victory in itself. The last few years he actually went in more than he had ever done in years past. I was so proud of his achievements! How far he had come!

I remembered how we would spend the whole day at this particular beach, how AMM would be making his sand castles as MAM and QMM would be in the water with their cousins or neighbors. What great memories! I remember how I told AMM that he could pee in the ocean (yes, I am one of those mothers) and his look of bewilderment mixed with horror. I convinced him that everyone does it. So the poor kid stood there in the water, and was about to pull his trunks down. I told him not to pull the trunks down, to which he replied in a pleading tone "can I have some toilet paper then please?". His expression was priceless!

Today, QMM and AMM were not there. MAM had nobody to go in the water with her for QMM is no longer with us. There was nobody to build sandcastles or bury in the sand, for AMM is no longer with us. The ocean waves were there, the same blue sky with the picturesque clouds were there, but my two dear sons were nowhere to be seen.

It felt very strange, and I felt empty. As if there was a hole in the center of my body, a big, gaping hole. It is ever present and seems as if it will consume all of my being. It's as if I have eyes, but can't see. I have feet, but have no destination to walk to. I have ears, but cannot hear.

Broken, I feel irrepairably broken.

It was a gift to have had QMM for 15 years in my life, a gift to have had AMM in my life for 12 years. I wish I could have had them longer, but it was not God's will. And so I wait for the time to be reunited with them, hopefully never to be parted from them after that. And who knows, maybe in heaven AMM and I can build sandcastles together as QMM frolicks in the waves.

Baby Steps

I took a baby step on Thursday. I went to the WOW gym, the local gym that BAM, MAM, QMM, and I used to frequent. After coming back from Pakistan, BAM and I had our memberships frozen. I couldn't even bear the thought of going to the gym where QMM used to love to hang out. He was friends with the trainers there; he was all over the gym...on the basketball court, on the treadmills, on the weight machines, on the push up bar.

I think in April or May I told BAM I wanted to get my membership reactivated. We drove to the gym, the three of us. I chickened out and sat in the car with MAM while BAM went in alone to reactivate both of our accounts. After he was done, he came out from the gym. Instead of coming to the car, he leaned against the wall of the gym and started crying uncontrollably.

I never did go to the gym...just couldn't. Even the parking lot was difficult; seeing spots where QMM used to wait for me to pick him up; seeing the area where I used to drop him off.

Until Thursday. I guess some thoughts had been fermenting in my mind over the past week. I saw patients who had diabetes, were wheelchair bound, who had suffered from strokes and were impaired as a result. And during the week, I started to think. God gave me this body. It is a gift, this life. Regardless, of my loss, this life and everything in it is a gift. I MUST appreciate it like I used to appreciate everything before March 29th. And I don't want to be part of a life where, due to my neglect, I am physically weak or dependent on others. Why spurn God's gift, and then get punished from Him? And what would QMM think?

And so Thursday, I came home from work, changed, and drove to the gym. As I drove to the gym, I could feel my heart racing, I had severe heartburn, I couldn't breathe right, and I felt my anxiety level hitting panic level. Come to think of it, it was a panic attack. I drove into that parking lot, where images of QMM appeared before my eyes. I parked the car, and thought, can I do this? Can I? And then I thought, I WILL do it. I got out of that car, and then walked into the gym. Into the gym that my QMM loved going to. I saw him everywhere I looked. But I was going to do my best, if not for myself, then in honor of QMM's memory.

I went on an elliptical machine, and watched Friends while exercising. I kept on glancing at spots I used to glance at before in the gym, and see QMM doing his thing. But he wasn't there. I was there, the gym was there, the people were there, but my QMM was not there.

Yet I did it...I completed my workout and then went to the sauna. The sauna. There too, his memories haunted me. There are separate saunas for males and females. They share the same wall, so QMM and I used to talk (loudly!) through the walls sometimes or knock on the mutual wall. The sauna was empty, I felt empty. But I did it.

As I walked out of the locker area, there was no QMM waiting for me. Nor did I have to wait for him to finish up his workout.

By the time I left the gym, I no longer had a racing heart, I no longer felt short of breath, but the heartburn pursued. But that's okay. I went to our gym, I went Friday, and I went today. Baby steps. I hope you're proud of me, QAM.

The Ceiling Fan

A beautiful ceiling fan was put up in a room.

Bright, shiny, and new, it thought it had a lot to do.

But the room wasn't used much, and much to its gloom,

The fan wasn't used as such, it didn't have anything to do.

And so it hung there, in that darkened room.

Till, suddenly, one day, the room started to be used.

Voices, joy, and laughter filled the once quiet room.

The fan was so happy; it started to be used.

The fan looked down and saw who was in the room.

Two young boys, it seemed, who had brought life to the room.

The fan was so happy, it had so much to do.

The fan continued rotating, rotating to cool the room.

Suddenly, one day, chaos seemed to ensue.

The fan looked down, as below, the boys refused to move.

No longer were they breathing, no longer did they move.

The fan kept on rotating...what else could it do?

The lifeless forms were taken out, never to return.

The fan was no longer needed, again nothing to do.

The lights were turned out, the fan stood still, again in the gloom.

In the darkness it wondered why they had to leave so soon.

A Letter to QMM

QMM requested to have his picture taken with the Gecko...and he was very proud of it!

Dearest QMM,

where to start from? I miss you both so terribly. QMM, I miss your wit, humor, sarcasm. I miss how we used to put our hands together, palm to palm, to see how much bigger your hand was than mine. How we would try to see who was stronger, and you always won. How you used to say "I have a 6 pack. Go on, touch my abs right here". Your running requests, and your reactions to us saying yes or no. I miss how I enjoyed watching you grow. How I used to call you my personal petri dish. How you used to stalk me and talk incessantly when I was mad at you. I miss your self confidence, your talents. I miss how you used to make me feel safe and protected. I miss your voice, your smile, your touch. I miss how you would prank call the unfortunate telemarketers that would call us. I miss how you would help me when there was something heavy to lift :"I'll do it Mom". I miss how you had a reply for everything. I miss hearing you complain about doing the chores. I miss seeing you enjoy the summer.

I miss your future. I miss what you were going to become. I miss you getting your driver's license, graduating from high school, getting accepted to college. I miss you getting your first job. I miss your life experiences. I miss your successes, failures. I miss you falling in love; I miss your heart being broken. I miss your wedding, I miss your wife. I miss your children.

I miss YOU.

Love always,

Mom

One Hundred Days

This picture was taken in January 2010 at a bat mitzvah

Dreams can be so cruel. I dreamt this morning that I had somewhere to go (to work or something) and I was worried the kids would be bored at home by themselves. In my dream, I thought I would ask their aunt, KS, to take them to her local pool for the day. A sense of satisfaction comes over me in the dream now that my problem is resolved. Suddenly, like an arrow piercing my neck, it hits me that my boys are dead...it doesn't matter anymore. I have lost my boys.

I woke up then as the alarm clock went off. My heart was racing, I was feeling as if each breath I took was a struggle, my stomach felt like it was on fire. And I just wanted to die. Just die. But now my motto is God's will, my desire.

I wondered why am I feeling so terrible today. And I remembered...today it is one hundred days since they died. One hundred days since my QMM died. One hundred days since my AMM died. One hundred days.

Your will, my desire

Dear Allah,
please help me. I don't know what to do. I feel myself entering the world of depression. I miss them so much. I know You have taken back what You had lent to me as a gift, and I thank You for that. But, You see, they were such great gifts that I miss them, there is a void now in my life. So if I cry for them, it is a tribute to You because You created such awesome gifts for me.
I used to pray for death until I recently found out that it is a sin to do so. I do apologize and hope that You forgive me since I committed this sin in ignorance. But when You think I am ready to be with the boys, please do take me. Whatever is Your will, is my desire. That has become my closing now for every prayer. Your will, my desire.
Abroo

Pinch punch, first day of the month.

When I was a kid growing up in London, my friends and I used to do a little ritual on the first of the month. "Pinch punch, first day of the month, no return." The goal was to - yes, you got it - pinch and punch someone (gently) on the first of the month. By saying "no return", we confirmed that the recipient of the pinch punch could not retaliate.

I continued this fun (and yes, I know, lame) tradition with my children. The one who enjoyed it the most was AMM. It was his mission to get all of us before we got to him. He would start anticipating it a couple of days beforehand. He was very proud that he had gotten me twelve months in a row (one of his bragging points).

The last few months of his life the first of the month had been tough, for QMM had gotten him first! And being bigger, QMM's pinches and punches were harder. How upset AMM was!

But it was so much fun for AMM and I. He would try to get me while evading my movements to get him, and I would try to evade him while he was trying to get me. He usually won.

Since the boys have left, I have been in a kind of haze, trying to get from one moment to the next without having a total breakdown. As a result, I did not even realize when the first of April, May, June came and went without our silly ritual. But July 1st I did remember. And my heart broke all over again. My pinch punch partner is gone. No more "pinch punch, first day of the month, no return". No more laughter. No more private jokes. No more of that unique bond AMM and I shared. No more.

Please...

Is there any way you can come back to me?

If there is, please do it, please.

I don't know if you can see,

My life without you is pure agony.

Despair

Our writer cousin told me once that when I write I should describe what I am feeling. For example, if I am happy, what does it tase like, what does it feel like? Basically, one needs to experience the emotion on all levels, then describe it.



Last night I experienced despair on such a level. I felt immersed, submerged in despair. Have you ever felt such despair? It feels as if I am sinking in quicksand; but instead of quicksand, it is heavy, dark, thick mud. It is getting all over me, getting stuck in clumps in my hair, in my pores. It takes a stronghold wherever it is on me, and slowly brings me down. Knowingly, I go down with it, hoping I will eventually find respite from this slow torture.


Despair tastes like gray dry ashes in my mouth. It sticks to my tongue, threatening to choke me as I try to swallow it. It is hard to swallow, hard to digest, hard to accept. But, at the same time, I know it is something that is going to be with me forever.


Despair is a painful silence. It deafens me with its overbearing volume. Slicing through me, more louder than a cheering crowd at a soccer game. The silence of despair permeates throughout the air around me. It overrides any other sound. If I am in a room full of people, I hear the silence instead of the chatter of people. It drowns out all other sounds.


This is my despair, this is my world.

Where They Both Be

Sweet death, come and embrace me.

Wrap your wretched talons around me.

Squeeze the ebbing life out of me.

Take me away to where they both be.

Help me be happy like I once used to be,

For after all, this isn't how it was supposed to be.

This is most unbearable, can't you see?

That I need to be where they both be.

Three Boys

Three boys standing together,

Where there should be four.

Three boys laughing together,

It makes my loss feel more.

Three boys growing together,

As so should have you.

These boys will grow old together,

But will never forget you.

Cousin Get Together 2010

This picture is from the summer of 2009 when we went for a weekend trip in NYC
Airy mountains,

I love the view.

But through it all,

There's no sight of you.

Frolicking children in the pool,

But not one of them is either of you.

Days will come, days will go,

My love will stay for both of you.

This poem was written when I was in the mountains of Vermont, as I was watching AMM and QMM's cousins playing in the pool.

I Love You, AMM

Ahad's last birthday, his 12th birthday, November 2009

Today I woke up with AMM's name on my lips; memories of him overflowing my mind, cascading over me, soothing me and burning me at the same time. My heart felt as if it were about to burst with thoughts of him. I recalled the first time he said "I love you" to me. I mean, actually SAID it to me. You see, AMM had Aspergers Syndrome , as well as comprehension issues and was therefore unable to properly communicate as a child. He used to exhibit echolalia, which is repeating what one hears. So, if I said I love you to him, he would parrot it back to me. He never initiated it, for him it was something he was incapable of during that time of his life. Throughout his preschool years I would tell him "I love you" and he would repeat back "I love you", not really understanding the emotion behind it.

Ahad started going to a special school when he entered pre-k. They started working with him, and we tried to do our best at home. They would give us suggestions, things to do at home to help AMM so that he could overcome his challenges. I stopped my BSN studies and started learning about Aspergers. I picked his teachers' brains, read books, and went on the internet in my quest to help AMM. I tried to find him the tools, and AMM absorbed everything and worked hard at overcoming his obstacles.

Ahad entered kindergarten in the public school system. He was in a self-contained classroom. During the winter of that year, AMM and I were standing in the laundry room preparing to face the frigid weather outside. I was getting bundled up in my coat,scarf, and gloves. AMM was also getting ready...he had his coat, gloves, and hat on. However, he was looking for his scarf which was not to be found in the laundry room. He made a comment that he was going to be cold without his scarf (he used to bundle up very thoroughly before going out). I automatically took off my scarf and handed it to him. He took it in his gloved hands, looked at me and said with awe in his voice "you would let me wear it?". I answered "of course, you won't be cold now". He stared at me for a second, gripping the scarf in his hand, then suddenly wrapped his arms around my legs and said with emotion in his voice "I love you". I was amazed, I was floored, I was humbled, and I was proud of AMM. He had just TOLD me that he loved me, he didn't just parrot words back to me he had heard. AMM had just conquered one of the obstacles he used to face.

On that icy cold winter day, the sun came out from behind the clouds for me, with a promise of a rainbow. For AMM loved me, and he had told me.

My Coin Collection

This poem is dedicated to QMM.

I had a coin collection, that I was going to leave to you.

But now that you're gone, I don't know what to do.

Who else will appreciate my coins, the way I saw you do?

Who else will warm my heart, the way you used to do?

The coins, will stay now in my drawer; they have nothing else to do.

Slowly, they will gather dust, as my tears fall for you.

For you see, my dear, they used to be a fun thing to do.

My greatest treasure in the world was all three of you.

No One To Replace You

Long summer days are longer without you.

Fireworks are no longer bright without you.

Life is so lonely now without you.

My arms are empty, they cannot hold you.

Cooling ice-cream has no charm without you.

The movie theater has empty spaces for you.

The backyard screams to me it wants you.

The driveway wonders, where exactly are you?

Your bedrooms await, waiting for you.

Your beds are cold, waiting to warm you.

Your clothes remain where they were left by you.

Your shoes gather dust, there is no one to replace you.

Soothe me

This picture is from September 2009, when we went to a Rutgers home game.

Soothe me, my boys, come and soothe me.

Only you and God, can do that for me.

There is nothing left here on earth for me.

Angel of Death, please come and release me.

Beautiful memories

This picture is from the summer of 2009, when we went to Niagara Falls.

Beautiful memories that make me cry,

In the empty house that mournfully sighs.

To touch your clothes with wistful longing,

Cuts to my soul...I have no sense of belonging.

A Head Start in Life

I always used to kid around that I had gotten a head start in life. I had always been the youngest in school (up to high school). I had graduated a year early since I had skipped a grade. I got engaged at the age of 17, married at the age of 18, pregnant at 19, had MAM at the age of 20, pregnant again at 21, had QMM at the age of 22. My 23rd year was a quiet year; pregnant again at the age of 24, and had AMM at the age of 25. We had gotten our first home when I was about 22.

Now I wonder...I buried my boys at the age of 37, which is early also. Maybe, just maybe, I will be lucky enough to die early too, and then I can be with them.

June 21st, 2010...The Longest Day of the Year

This picture is from the summer of 2009. The boys were sleeping in, and I was creeping on them (as QMM would have said).

Yesterday, we started looking at headstones for the boys. I was originally going to write about what we did, what we experienced as we went through yesterday, yet another trial in this nightmare. But why rehash it? Why go into detail of how the headstone seller was not seeing us as parents who have had both their arms cut off, but as dollar signs? For, in all fairness, that is his bread and butter. Our loss, his gain.

Why go into detail of how compassionate the cemetery man was? He was the one who told us we were being charged an exorbitant fee for the headstone. What good does it do to recount his comment "you both are young. You can have more children."? Why doesn't anyone understand that nobody can replace my QMM and AMM?

Yet, I still recount the events. I don't know why.

What emotions did I experience yesterday? I had that same feeling again, the one when this whole nightmare started. My mind kept on saying "this really CAN'T be happening to ME...this only happens in soap operas, in movies; surely, this is not happening to ME.". But is IS happening to me, it IS happening to BAM, it IS happening to MAM. And it DID happen to QMM and AMM - they lie under the ground, while we tread above the ground, waiting to join them.

What would QMM and AMM have said if I had told them on June 21, 2009 "boys, this is your last summer on this earth. Your father, sister, and I will be looking at headstones for your graves next year at this time".For that matter, what would I have said if somebody would have told me last year what I would be doing on June
21st, 2010...the longest day of the year????

This IS Family...

I grew up not knowing a lot about the meaning of family. I was part of a "nuclear" family - parents, siblings, and myself. That was family to me. We really didn't have a close interpersonal relationship; that was just how it was for me.

So, I was very surprised (in fact, it was like a culture shock) when I married my husband (no, that isn't the culture shock part) and entered his world of family (enter culture shock here). Family for him did not mean his immediate family; it meant aunts, uncles, and THE COUSINS. For me, my extended family meant an occasional trip to Pakistan that involved a lot of blurry faces packed into a few weeks where half the time I was jet lagged. My husbands situation was actually the opposite of mine; his "nuclear" family was back in Pakistan, and his extended family was here. His extended family in the US was made up of The Cousins (insert dramatic music here please).

I started to understand the dynamics of this rare breed at this thing they called the Cousin Get Together (CGT). This strange phenomenon was when all the cousins would - yes, you got it - get together. It was a collection of first cousins in the U.S., all young couples, that would meet and bond for a weekend. I was pleasantly surprised (and in awe) of how close they all were and how welcoming they were towards me.

As the years went by, I took their presence as part of my life; I couldn't imagine them NOT being part of my existence. Years went by, we all started having babies. We would share pregnancy stories, baby stories, and discuss the most pressing issue of the moment ("should I introduce my baby to solids with pureed carrots or pureed plums?"). We would visit one another outside of the CGT.

As our children started growing up, we started forming bonds with them, and they with us. I used to tell my husband that I was so fortunate to have married him because of, well, his cousins. For now my children had something that I had lacked in my childhood...they had close bonds with their aunts, uncles, and THEIR cousins. They had a sense of belonging, a safe haven they could turn to. I remember how one time one of AMM's aunts went for a summer vacation. When she came back, we decided to go to her home and welcome her back. Imagine my surprise when AMM, who walked through her front door smiling, saw her, hugged her, sat down on her couch with a big sigh, and then proceeded to tell her every single injustice he felt he had incurred during her absence. It was then that I realized that AMM had his very own personal Dear Abby in the form of this aunt!

QMM loved his family too. He was especially close to a cousin of his in NY, MFA. They were both like peas in a pod...the male and female version of the same persona. She would sometimes come to stay with us, supposedly to hang out with my daughter. However, most of the time, it seemed like she was here to hang with QMM; they were glued at the hip. They were, I thought, the same personality with the same interests. 2 sides of the same coin, I used to think. For that matter, AMM also loved her very much. He used to use her as his personal sofa; where she would sit, he would come and sit ON TOP of her!

I always knew we were close and very fortunate to have such close ties, but I didn't realize how deep these ties ran till I lost my boys. When I got off the plane at JFK, I was expecting that I would be waiting to receive my sons' coffins with just my husband and daughter. But instead, they were ALL there. All of QMM and AMM's beloved aunts, uncles, and cousins were there to receive them for the last time. At times, I couldn't tell where my tears ended and theirs began. The same grief was pulsating through our veins, our bodies, reaching into the innermost recesses of our being as if we were one. It wasn't just BAM and I that had lost our sons, it wasn't just MAM that had lost her brothers; the cousins had lost their sons too, for the boys were their sons. MAM was not the only one who had lost her brothers; the younger generation of cousins had lost their brothers too.

How fortunate my boys are to have been loved so much. Thank-you Cousins, for having loved OUR sons .

Your Brown Eyes

I always thought QMM's eyes reflected his personality. Beautiful, beautiful eyes. From a distance, they could trick you. They appeared to be dark eyes, like mine. However, as you got closer to him...

My God...QMM...AMM. Sometimes when I think of you I feel that there are no words to describe what I feel. My throat feels as if it's closing up, I'm gasping for air, suffocating slowly...

Sorry...back to the eyes. Yes, as you would get a closer glimpse of them you could see that they were actually lighter than my eyes; they were brown in color. A beautiful brown color. I loved looking at his eyes. And, QMM being QMM, knew that he had gorgeous eyes. I would sometimes call him "hey brown eyes" , and he would look at me, as if saying "and your point is?". He knew that the girls in his school also liked his eyes, as he had told me on many an occassion (I never had to worry that he had self-esteem issues!). His sister would sometimes say "it's not fair. Why couldn't I have eyes like him?".

His eyes were so round, so rich in color. Limitless in their depths, with the black pupils in the center. I try to remember them that way, when he would be looking at me, talking to me; his eyes full of life and animation.

I try to block out when I pulled up his eyelids, when he was lying on the floor, motionless, with the ceiling fan continuing its rotations above him. His pupils were fully dilated, so that all I could see were the thin outer rims of his brown irises, and the middle was eclipsed by abnormally large dark pupils. There was no pupillary reflex. There was no smile in the eyes, no "this is all a joke..gotcha!" There was no voice from the form lying above on the bed, saying "we tricked you!!!".

And then, when I saw those eyes for the final time after we landed in NY. Both of my boys' eyelids were slightly ajar. I could see the pigmentation of their beautiful eyes was fading. And I knew they needed to be laid to rest.

But then, when I start feeling the horror revisit me, I try to remember; in my dream, his eyes were still brown, beautiful, full of expression. And that's what I need to remember.