My mum and my Abu are here. The fragility of their existences is ever present on my mind. But they are here. This is a special time. Because they are here. And because I feel luckier than ever before for having them here.
Caring for Abu when his cough has been bad, when he has been suffering more, when he’s needed me to comfort him when he’s woke himself up coughing, when I’ve felt tortured by how helpless I’ve felt, for not being able to do anything more to help him than gently pat him on his back to try to distract him, to reassure him I was there with him, or take him out so he could have a change of mind, no matter the time of day, it has shown me, that when you love a soul, when that soul needs you more, when it seems more fragile, your love becomes even stronger, because you become more acutely aware, of how you appreciate every fibre, every habit, every sound, every movement, every breath, that belongs to that being.
The experience has made realise, that those couples who break up, when one gets ill, those couples could never have had anything more than a lust and a liking for each other. Because love becomes stronger, the more you are made aware of the preciousness of the soul, by the unwanted painfully increased awareness of its vulnerability.
When I rang my mum this evening, from my landline (I’m still not using my mobile), she was sleepy, and so I couldn’t talk to her for long. It left a feeling of hurt in my heart, that led me to write here again. I wanted so much to talk more with her. I hope I can do so tomorrow.
These months when I haven’t been in touch with her, because I had wanted to protect myself from the possibility of having lost her, during those months, so often, I would think to myself “mum would encourage me to do that” when it has come to making some decisions. It’s odd, I’m realising I’ve not even once thought “dad would encourage me to do that” since he passed away, although, in spite of the efforts he definitely did make as a father, I tend to remember him more for his discouragement than his encouragement, and so that is probably the reason why.
I wonder: would my dad rather I had become someone with no worldly possessions, but all the happiness in the world, or would he have rather I become someone with wealth, but no happiness. I suppose the former situation doesn’t tend to happen in any case, no one would have all the happiness in the world without some feeling of security in life. But say, if it were possible, I’d still bet my dad would rather me become one of the latter kind. Someone unhappily wealthy. I think he must’ve seen wealth as goodness. Anyway. I know I must not talk down the skill of managing one’s finances, when that is a skill I sorely need to be in possession of. But yes, I just wonder, had my dad been given the choice: your daughter could be happy or wealthy, but not both at the same time, I can’t help but think he would always choose the latter. I think my mum would refuse to accept the proposal, and choose the latter, the wealth, with the conviction that I would become happier in time with all that wealth! :-)
I hope I can somehow ‘make it’ next year. To go from not being able to support myself, to being able to support myself and my mum. I lost the chance of making my dad’s life better, and I regret that, in spite of all these realisations I’ve been having about how little he must’ve loved me, if he indeed ever loved me at all.
To go from not being able to manage my own life, to managing my own life, and being able to look after my mum, and doing that, not by being an accountant, not by being a lawyer, not by being a doctor, but by making music. That’s a tall order.
I hope I can figure it out somehow. I have so much music to share, I just need to get better at sharing it. And I have enough faith in the strength of the music to feel sure that, if I can get better at sharing it, I’ll be okay. I hope so. I’m not the person I used to be before the accident, and I will never be her again. For her, doing it “for the music” was enough of a reason. But the person I’ve become couldn’t imagine finding enough of a point in ‘making it’ now, unless I could do it whilst I could still make things better for, and make more memories with, my mum and my Abu.
LYNA GALLIARA 