A month ago, I made the monumental move from Karachi, Pakistan to Toronto. Leaving behind my family, friends, and the familiarity of home was difficult, but the hardest farewell was to my son’s resting place.
My son, Armaan, would have turned 7 this year. His birth was a long and challenging journey, culminating in an emergency C-section after a grueling 22 hours of labor. I never got to cradle him in my arms because I was too drained. Yet, I can still hear his first cries echoing in my memory – sounds that pulled me from unconsciousness. I remember the doctor waking me up again to share, “Don’t you want to see your beautiful baby boy?” I can still feel the warmth of his forehead against my lips just before he was taken from me forever.
I only held him three times during his brief 14 hours of life. By that third visit, he had already become an angel. I had wanted to see him before he passed away, but it took too long to get a wheelchair. When the doctor informed me that “his lungs had collapsed,” I was unprepared for the gravity of the situation. I should have risen from my bed to offer him comfort, to hold his tiny hand, to be there for him.
The next morning, I stood to go to the bathroom, telling everyone I just needed a moment to gather myself before seeing him. Those moments stretched into an eternity, and it was too late.
Fast forward to today – I am the proud mother of a spirited 4-year-old daughter named Lily. She has brought immense joy into my life, despite the challenges of her pregnancy. Unlike Armaan’s peaceful gestation, Lily’s journey was nothing short of tumultuous. Given the increasing turmoil in Pakistan, we decided it was time to provide her with a brighter future in a developed country, where she could explore museums, zoos, and enjoy the simple pleasures of life.
As we prepared for our departure, I faced the most painful goodbye imaginable – leaving my son at his grave. I hadn’t visited often in recent years. In truth, my daughter’s early years were filled with excuses. I wanted her to see me as strong and composed, because every visit to Armaan’s grave left me in shambles. For my husband, visiting our son was a source of solace, while for me, it was an overwhelming tide of regrets.
Just days before we left for Canada, we visited his grave together. Tears flowed as we silently shared our sorrow. Standing there, side by side, we could feel the unbreakable bond forged through our shared loss, a connection deeper than words could express.
We entrusted his grave’s care to two dear friends, with tears still streaming down our cheeks – a bittersweet farewell that never truly fades.
As the sun shines bright today, Lily is off to school, and I find myself eagerly counting the hours until she returns. Sometimes, while walking to the library or taking the subway, my thoughts drift to a parallel life where Armaan is still here. In that dream, I would be holding both of my children’s hands instead of just one. How different and wonderful life would be.
I may have said goodbye to his grave, but my love for him will never fade. No mother can ever truly say goodbye to her child. Whether a few hours or a lifetime, the connection we have carved in our hearts is eternal and transcends time itself.
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In summary, this journey of loss and love highlights the resilience of a mother. Each day brings challenges, but it also brings the opportunity to grow and cherish the memories of those we’ve lost while embracing the joy of those with us.