The Departed 27 May 2008
Posted by Baraka in BARAKA, Family, Psychology.trackback
I measure absences in the limbs of growing children.
Somewhere along the way, departing friends, lovers, or family members became rooted in newborn children. Every time there was a farewell, there was also a birth; and so it began.
When I say there were “farewells” I do not refer to the permanence of death but, rather, to acts such as moving cross-country or -continents from dear friends, to closing the door on relationships that no longer fit, or to counting the days since I last saw a loved one.
Sometimes, children are also markers for the years that have passed since I stood at a personal crossroads in life and hesitated; they point to both the road taken and the one left behind.
For example, it has been sixteen years since I stood at a crossroads and decided not to become a mother. My friend’s son was born later that year and every time I see his golden head I remember the woman I might have become but chose not to be because I assumed there would be time later.
Even now, knowing that that time never came, given the choice I would not sacrifice the life I have lived thus far for motherhood then. Looking at him, almost a man now, I remember who I will not be, and, more importantly, who I am.
In another case, it has been over three years since I said goodbye to a friend turned baleful. The girl born shortly thereafter with curls that cannot be restrained became a symbol of my emancipation. Every inch her determined body grows marks the increasing safety of years between us.
It is not usually sad. My beloved niece, born soon after 9/11 and my meeting with Basil, is the living embodiment of my blessed time with him. And, often, a faraway loved one’s memory merges with a nearby child so that whenever I see them laughing and playing my heart fills with joy at the thought that my loved one exists, though we have not seen each other for as many years as that child has lived.
The child embodies hope, the hope that someday we may meet again. In the meantime, life goes on and the child shows me that there is much to be delighted with, grateful for and discovered in spite of absences and distance.
I said death was not marked this way, for there are more fitting ways to mark that passage than to inscribe it on the joyous, surging limbs of a child. But with Mani’s passing, I fear he may be reborn in his young son who looks and acts so much like his father at that age: eyes raging at not getting his way, loving arms and endless questions, passionately playing until we are all exhausted.
I must remember: He is like you, but he is not you. I remind myself not to plant your sadness in him, not to water it with guilt, not to look for your shadows to grow in him.
Let him be - let them all be. Children deserve to be seen for themselves.
I was pregnant with my second son when my father died. It is therefore easy to remember how many years exactly since I lost my dad. When my son was born many, including my husband, wanted me to name him after my father. I loved my father dearly, but I wanted my son to have a name and an existence unique to himself. Strangely,in many ways my son is turning out to be like my father. They share the same creativity and emotions. Yet I am always careful not to compare him to my dad or anyone else. As you said, children deserve to be seen for themselves.
So true masha’allah, I was also pregnant with my second son when my father died. Even stranger, my second son was born on the same day as my younger brother… who died when he was 3 days old. He was my mother’s second child….I remember as my son’s expected date of delivery came and went… I almost knew he would arrive then, He was 13 days late.
It was a beautiful gift from Allah s.w.t after losing my father.
It is a wonderful to remember his birthday as being special because he shares it with his uncle. But he is very much his own person! I often ponder on why in my family we have often had a death or birth so close together.
True. The Persistence of Memory is a creation of our own minds. Each child is born free. The real job, indeed, may be to shed one’s history over time, and transcend it all to become who we truly are.
Amen!
Beautiful Barakah.
This is a beautiful post, lots to ponder on
Im touched by your thoughts ..Subhana Allah does not take all, he takes but it gives something else..Thats what I learned from the death of my Father
The irreversible growth of life both serves as a reminder of people or events and marks our distance from them. This post is haunting, yet beautiful; so fitting for the seeming dichotomy of life that is neither, but is both.
Thank you for the wonderful post!
Very beautiful post. I agree with so much you say here.
It is, of course, totally important to let children be themselves. But we also all need our connections to those through whom we came to be. I think it can be a good and lovely thing too to let children know how we see and feel other loved ones in their presence—as long as we’re not expecting them to be those others and are sensitive to any signs that our expressions are burdensome. Often, I’m sure, it is best to share our thoughts only with other adults and lets the kids be unselfconscious.
Thanks for your thoughtful writing, as always, Baraka. The bit, “it has been sixteen years since I stood at a crossroads and decided not to become a mother,” left me wondering what the story there is. Unless I am wildly off about your age, you must have been quite young.
best,
Priscilla
Salaams all and thank you for your comments,
~W~: Lovely story. It’s strange and beautiful how both visual and character traits seem to be encoded in the genes we pass on.
Sumi: I often ponder on why in my family we have often had a death or birth so close together.
I wonder too. It’s as if God intentionally gives us comfort and a way to move us forward in the form of new life, as Nasra also says below.
The Prophecy: The real job, indeed, may be to shed one’s history over time, and transcend it all to become who we truly are.
Very interesting idea - thank you for sharing your reflections. Isn’t that what Eckhart Tolle recommends too?
Umm Salihah, Scott, and Achelois: Thank you for your kind comments!
Nasra: Alhamdolillah, that’s a beautiful way to look at it. Thank you.
Basil: Thanks jaan :)
Priscilla: Often, I’m sure, it is best to share our thoughts only with other adults and lets the kids be unselfconscious.
I agree, there are appropriate times to tell them of the connections we see and feel as well as to share the tales of where they came from.
People have commented my whole life that I look/act like my father to the point that it was really annoying. Now, I rather like it, but it took time to get there. I needed space to develop who I am without him, and now I can embrace just how much of him there is in me.
As for my feelings toward motherhood, those are stories that remain untold.
Thank you, all!
Warmly,
Baraka
I am so greatful to Eckhart Tolle and Oprah for turning me onto Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor and her beautiful book “”My Stroke of Insight”". Her story is amazing and her gift to all of us is a book purchase away I’m happy to say.
Dr Taylor was a Harvard brain scientist when she had a stroke at age 37. What was amazing was that her left brain was shut down by the stroke - where language and thinking occur - but her right brain was fully functioning. She experienced bliss and nirvana and the way she writes about it (or talks about it in her now famous TED talk) is incredible.
What I took away from Dr. Taylor’s book above all, and why I recommend it so highly, is that you don’t have to have a stroke or take drugs to find the deep inner peace that she talks about. Her book explains how. “”I want what she’s having”", and thanks to this wonderful book, I can! Thank you Dr. Taylor, and thank you Eckhart and Oprah.
Really beautifully and lovingly written and ever so true, dearest Sister Baraka :) I would add only this thought: There are no decisions we make that Allah has not made first for us, and for our benefit.
Ya Haqq!