I have two hours. I found the following in my old notebook. I wrote as the thoughts were competing randomly in my head.
02/17/2010, 8:22 PM Gate K12, Waiting for the flight to London.
02/17/2010, 8:22 PM Gate K12, Waiting for the flight to London.
Fatima in her deathbed. Week, yet managed a smile. She was gazing into the
distance. But I think she recognized me. When I said: goodbye mother, she closed
her eyes. Ziad, Najah, Laith, and Wesam are waiting in the car. Sure, this is the last time we see each other. Should I wait, for only few months? Khoulood is
crying now. I kiss mother on her forehead and the cheeks. Khoulood sobs, and I
start weeping. I said: “Fatima!” I am Hisham. She smiled again, her lower lip is
so wrinkled. I search for the room card. It was green, with a white sticker:
476- Bed 2. The last numbers in her life. It seems 1928 is so distant, but also
so near. I call “Fatima” the young orphan girl. She understood, she wants to
stay. Her eyes had hope, but hope has no place now. I said I am going; goodbye mom. I try to look beyond the wrinkled face. Beyond the deep wrinkles. I try to
see under her lower lip. In a glance, I try to see the little scared girl, facing
the world in AlBireh of 1928. No trace. Just the remains of an old face, with
life fading away from it. This is my mother! At one time, she was everything.
When I dreamed of Satan pulling me and Ziad down into the old house well from the
flimsy float we were standing on, it was her who beat Satan and comforted me
from my dream. I was only about 5 at that time. My God, she was always there. If
not physically, her presence was always felt. It is so scary to think
of my world without her. Father firmly believed she was “connected.” That is she
had “wasta” with the highest force. Yes, the Force itself, and with that we were all
protected. We were always safe. When I drove my car, the cartoonish Renault-18 the length of the distance from our 47th
St. store to the driveway of our 2914 house. The axle of the front wheel broke only after I left the car. Father said: "I told you she is connected." Without her
powers, real or imagined, I am now scared. Mother is going away for ever. The
world will change its face. It is changed now. Room 476 Bed-2. Those are the last
numbers of her life. There will be other numbers. But they will be her death
numbers. The numbers of her funeral, her grave, in Evergreen Cemetery, not
besides my Father, but not too far from him. This idea always terrified her: to be buried next to a foreign man. The graves next to him are already
occupied. She always wanted to be buried next to him in Albireh. She loved him so
much, so it was so sad to hear her complaining about her fears of him getting a second wife. During her coma, I could hear her claiming him as her man. This fear was instilled in her by the gossipy women of the neighborhood.
This however had for the most part stopped after my birth. I came to her relief after three girls:
Nuah, Huda, and Muyasser. But I think the idea stayed with her all the way to up
to now. No words, no actions, no feelings, no dreams will change the fact that
mother is going away. She, and I cannot defy space-time. There is something of
her in Aiya and Jenin; the intensity and fire. There is something of her in me
too, but it is fading away too. But I look Time in the face and with stupidity I
declare: Fatima lives in all of us. In Hasan’s smiles, and Laith’s love of life.
In Wesam, in Hythem, in Muyasser, Khoulood, and all the others. But still, the fact is she is
going away, FOR EVER. I then remember the AlMutanabi’s verse, which was really
true for all my life up to this point:
بكيت عليها خيفة في حياتها ... وذاق كلانا ثكل صاحبه قدماً
It is time now to catch my flight.
PS: Mom survived that health episode; I was able to see her again during my
summer vacation from Arabia. The scene was repeated in similar details at her
real deathbed in Ziad’s house. It was Septmber 17th, when I was
leaving again to my work at AlFaisal University. She was in a semi coma. I
called her name, and with nicest surprise she opened her eyes, and smiled on
seeing me. Her face truly shined happiness. She then started to cry when
she recognized that she was not in her bedroom in Albireh. We cried with her. I
finally managed to recite Surat Yasīn from memory, but was afraid to scare her. She knows this is the Sura of Death. My mother never missed a prayer or
a fast. She even fasted on my behalf.
About 10 hours later, while I was waiting my flight to Arabia at Heathrow Airport in London. I was called by the announcement system to report to the information booth. Aiya was on the phone. She curtly said: “Dad, Sitto died, Come back.” I traveled back to Chicago and participated in burying her. It is so strange that I do not remember anything about putting her body underground.
Months later, and while I was in Arabia, my siblings managed to bring my father’s remains to be buried next to her.
About 10 hours later, while I was waiting my flight to Arabia at Heathrow Airport in London. I was called by the announcement system to report to the information booth. Aiya was on the phone. She curtly said: “Dad, Sitto died, Come back.” I traveled back to Chicago and participated in burying her. It is so strange that I do not remember anything about putting her body underground.
Months later, and while I was in Arabia, my siblings managed to bring my father’s remains to be buried next to her.
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