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.