Today I want to share a very personal experience and one that has been etched in my memory and never forgotten. 2003 was a particular very emotional and a difficult year for me. It was the year that I laid both my son and dad to rest. My son was born premature (3 months early), the delivery was extremely painful to watch as he was born in breech position (feet first) his head was stuck in the cervix for about 20 seconds and lost access to air which damaged his brain and other vital organs. The surgeon had no option but to operate and cut the cervix open, which in turn mistakenly cut the side of his neck. At that moment I had lost all hope and a part of thought he will make it but then reality kicked in and I had to accept that this may be the last few moments.
A wave of hope came in and he was delivered, but he looked battered and bruised, eyes closed he came into the world and was the length of a pencil. I can remember very clearly he gave a little sneeze which seemed to echo for ages in the theatre room for all eternity. I was told to go home and rest, little did I know that it was the night that I had been dreading all along. The phone rang at 2.00 am, I was advised to come to the hospital straight away. My heart beating as if I was lifeless and I actually didn't know how I even got the hospital myself. I met with the consultant paediatrician and I was told that a few hours ago they had to resuscitate him, the doctor said that they would not perform this again if it happened and for us to think about the next stages. I screamed and shouted at the consultant as if they had given up already, to me it felt they did not really care. My eyes were bloodshot red and for the very first time I could not control myself and my tears just flowed naturally. They had to put him on a life support machine.
The next few days were crucial and he was starting to make progress, the nurses were easing off the medication, all I could do was watch and pray for a miracle, for some weird reason he did not open his eyes all this time. The first week went by and steady, then things took a very bad turn, we were called to a private room and the consultant advised that although things are improving on the outside, his vital organs and airway to his brain was impacted to the point where if he did survive the next few days he would be lifeless and no quality of life. It was this moment that they had suggested we switch the life support machine off. I felt my heart was ripped out and I genuinely thought at that moment if there was a God why is he not listening to me? what I have I done wrong to deserve this? We took the decision to switch the machine off and take all the pain away. My fingers trembling and just before I switched off the machine, my son had finally opened his eyes, and he gave me a little smile as if to say thank you for letting him go, it was this bit I struggle to forget each and every day. After the funeral as if something magical had happened, in the sky I saw a cloud formation of the letter ‘Z’ we had named in Zain (in Arabic it means beautiful- to me he was very beautiful and strong to keep fighting even if it was for only a few days).
Zain would have been 17 now :-) I sometimes wonder what would he look like? how would he behave? naughty and mischievous just like any other teenagers? I guess I would never experience this, but I will never forget him.
My dad was very instrumental in my life, coming from an army background (he fought against Hitler and was based in Burma) he disciplined but equally showered me with love. I can remember very vividly every Sunday afternoons me and dad would go for long walks in the park, sometimes we would talk lots and sometimes there was silence between us. He taught me the values of life, the importance of respecting people, treating people with compassion and kindness. I was just overcoming the death of my son and coming to terms with my loss when all over a sudden my dad had a mini-stroke at home. From there events unfolded, he lost the ability to move and his memory went, he did not recognise who I was, he thought I was his nephew and my mum was his daughter.
I felt this can’t be happening to me all over again, this automatically kicked in my memory of losing my son, and I was very sad and depressed. As the days went by dad deteriorated very rapidly, he had developed gangrene on his foot, doctors would not operate on him because of his age and multiple illnesses. I can remember few hours before he passed away he was in his senses as if my miracle, he knew who I was and asked me to go and buy him a packet of Walkers Cheese and Onion crisps (those were his favourite). Dad finished the packet and asked for a glass of water, he drank it and told me he was tired and wanted to sleep. I laid dad down and made sure he was comfortable, he looked at me and asked me to cuddle him, he told me he loved me and wants me to take care of my little brothers and sisters and to well in life. Dad took his last breath and closed his eyes, I could see tears from trickling down, those last words of dad will remain within me forever.
I would like to wrap this up by saying over the years life has taught me many things, the good, the bad and the ugly. It was only last week that I decided to let go of my past, I had kept in my wallet since 2003 two store receipts; both of them were to purchase items for the funeral, one for dad and one for Zain. I went to my local park ripped up the receipts and against the gushing of the wind, I let them go. The moment filled with happiness and emotions, I know by not having those receipts physically with me does not mean I have forgotten them, but most importantly they will always be near me and looking down on me.
