To my best childhood memory

March 15th marks a sad sad memory in my calendar. It’s the day she passed away, my nana (may she RIP).

I remember that day very clearly starting from the moment my uncle K walked in the apartment, my mom’s loud voice which practically woke me up... walking out of my room, the moment I saw K all collapsed on the couch, I knew it. I posted all about that day in my old blog, in painful details.

What I never said in that post is how angry I was at myself after she died! I never said it because until lately, I had not recognized this anger, probably because I had more stuff to be angry about.


I was angry at myself for not taking enough time to sit with her in the hospital instead of stealing few minutes on my way back home from college to see her… I should have never let my fear of hospitals keep me away from her.

I was angry at myself for not sitting by her side day in and day out begging for her to get well and be there to make me feel as loved as she always did… I should have never let my fear of seeing the strongest person I have ever known collapsing that way cripple me from being by her side.

I was angry at myself for not crying when K held me in his arms saying “khalas, maba2ash feeh neena”… I should have let my tears flow rivers because I knew I would miss her, even when I believed death was her relief from the pain of being so helpless.

I was angry at myself for going to college the next day and doing my presentation, instead of going with every one else to funeral… I should have allowed myself to grief then, instead of telling myself that she will always be there in my heart, not her grave.

I was angry at myself for not crying as hard as I needed until almost a year had passed… I make up for that by crying so hard every time I realize how much I miss her.


Oh my God, every time I think of her, my eyes are filled with tears, I feel that huge lump in my throat, my nose starts running, and I start trembling. Someone told me that our tears over our dead loved ones cause them discomfort. I don’t know that for sure but I make up for my inability to control my tears by praying for her as much as I can and wishing her the best one can get; prayers do help, so I have been told, and so I believe.

Once I start relaxing, I smile and think of her, and start reminiscing… her words… her wits… her slightly tanned skin… her always red cheeks… her beautiful white hair that she used to hide her face with, as an attempt to play with me when I was little… her warm hug that used to make me as safe and protected as I have never felt… her rice pudding… her cooking… how she used to teach me how to roll vine leaves, to work on ka7k el 3eed with that thing… how she’d check if I had washed the glass of water and before filling it up and giving to her… how she’d tell me that rhyming prayer, I seem to fail to remember… all the pet names she used to call me with…and more and more beautiful memories that make my heart feel warm despite the pain of missing her.

Thank you Maat for writing this post about her when I first mentioned on my old blog that I miss her, thanks for dedicating it to me; it inspired me to remember the good things and it reminded me of things I had almost forgotten.

So that’s why March sucks!! That’s why it’s wrong to think Moher’s Day when my own mother figure died 6 days ahead of it!!

And also, my last dream of her was in March 2006, right after my ERCP. It was a scary dream with a golden scorpion (!!!) trying to bite me and my baby sister; she was the one who warned me soon enough to jump and push it away, and the one who told me not to worry as I freaked out…

I miss having her in my dreams; I miss the peace I felt waking up giggling… I hope I would dream of her this month, perhaps I can forgive March then.