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Motherload: On losing & becoming a mother

Motherload: On losing & becoming a mother

“My mother was my country, the first place I ever lived “
— Nayyirah Waheed



 My mother was my country, my mother was my home, bound by an eternal (umbilical) cord, that was severed the moment she took her last breaths and not me my first. That is the thing about losing a mother-all of a sudden you forget how to breathe, how to walk, how to function. You are a motherless daughter and need to find your place in this world all over again. You are no longer bound by the ever feeding force of your mother, be that nourishment of the body or later the soul, we never seize the need for this connection and oneness.

Her death did not come quick, it wasn't sudden and the pain wasn't either. In e.e Cummings's poem" dying is fine)but Death" he sees "dying" as being natural and inescapable, but death cold and artificial. I would say in the case of seeing a loved one suffer, death is the sweet outcome, gut wrenchingly permanent, but not as cruel as dying. Dying is death every day. That was how it were the last days spend with my mother, her body frail and her womanhood stolen by the dreadful disease. Those last days were the hardest of my life,  I was carrying my heart on the outside and the tiniest bump could kill me too, but I had to be strong, I had to be strong, I had to be strong.

Then came death, the not so sudden death taking what was left of her beautiful body & soul, permanently away from  us and leaving me with my world shattered and the burning realisation that there will be no one ever who will love me as much. For years to come, my memories of her were overshadowed by the last fragile months even after trying so desperately to remember the before, before all came tumbling down.

And then came birth, the day my daughter was born & I became a mother the world changed for me. The veil lifted and I could see that I will never only be one again, just as my mother were torn in three. I once again carried my heart on the outside, but this time it was the sweetest most precious pain.

Tumeric face mask

Tumeric face mask

Travelling by car to Provence