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Saying Farewell to My Son’s Grave to Embrace Motherhood
Hey there, friends. So, we made a big move to Toronto just a month ago. After spending 20 years in Karachi, Pakistan, leaving behind my family, friends, and all that felt familiar was a huge leap. But saying goodbye to my son’s grave? That was the hardest part.
My son, Rami, would have celebrated his 7th birthday this year. His arrival was intense, a grueling 22-hour labor that concluded with an emergency C-section. I never even got to hold him; I was too exhausted. But I can still hear his first cry, the sound that pulled me back into consciousness. I remember the doctor urging me to meet my beautiful boy and kissing his forehead before they took him away for burial. In just 14 hours, I saw him three times, and by the last time, he had already earned his angel wings.
I wanted to be with him before he passed, but the wheelchair didn’t arrive in time. All night long, I was in and out of sleep, and when the doctor warned me that his lungs had collapsed, I didn’t understand the gravity of it. I should have gotten up, gone to the NICU, and held his tiny hand. Instead, I stayed in bed, lost in my own fear.
The next morning, I tried to muster the energy to visit him, but my legs felt like jelly. I thought, just a few minutes to rest, and I’d be right there. But those few minutes turned into an eternity, and by the time I gathered myself, it was too late.
Fast forward to today, and I have a vibrant 4-year-old daughter named Leah. She’s a handful, to say the least! Her pregnancy was tough, a stark contrast to the smooth experience I had with Rami. With Leah in mind, we decided it was time to leave Pakistan. Things had become too chaotic, and I wanted her to grow up in a place where experiences like visiting museums and playing outside were safe and accessible.
So, we packed up and prepared for the hardest goodbye of all—saying farewell to Rami’s grave. I’ll be honest, I didn’t visit often. For the first couple of years of Leah’s life, I made excuses, telling myself I needed to be strong. My husband, on the other hand, found solace in visiting our son. For me, it was a flood of regrets every time I stood there.
A few days before leaving for Canada, we went together to say our goodbyes, tears streaming down our faces. Standing by the grave of your child reveals so much about your partner; it’s an intimate moment that deepens your bond in ways you can’t explain. We entrusted two close friends with the care of his grave, tears flowing freely once again—we all know that grief has no expiration date.
Today, the sun is shining, and Leah is off to school. I find myself counting the hours until she returns. Sometimes, as we walk to the library or head to the subway, I drift into a daydream about an alternate life where Rami is still with us. I imagine holding both of their hands, and I can’t help but wonder how different life would be.
So, while I said goodbye to his grave, I’ll never say goodbye to him in my heart. No mother can. Whether it’s 0 hours, 14, or even a million, the time our children spend with us leaves an indelible mark on our hearts that transcends everything.
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Summary
This heartfelt piece reflects on a mother’s journey of saying goodbye to her son’s grave after moving to a new country. It captures her struggles with grief while embracing her role as a mother to her daughter, Leah. Despite the pain of loss, she highlights the enduring love for her son that forever resides in her heart.