Mother, Spring.
a mother's day letter.
Meknes, Sunday, March 22nd at midnight.
To thy Kingdom of Heaven.
Mother,
I was supposed to write to you, or write about you, yesterday. You know better than I do that it was mothers’ day, for you made sure you raised me well enough to celebrate you in it, through every other day of your life on Earth, and every other one you’re spending above between the cherubim and the seraphim.
Mother, I miss you. I’ve been missing your presence in your dreams as much as I’ve missed having my head feeling light on the merciful lap of thine for the past twelve years after the heaviest days. I miss you, and since I know the last thing you’d want to see next to you right now is me, since I cannot be the Icarus that flies high to your sun only to crumble six feet under earth, I’m writing to you. Maybe this will manifest your embrace, maybe this will bring you to my dreams in your favourite white Jellaba, like last time we had breakfast in my dreams.
Mother, I know you watch everything from above while the heavenly servants get thee thy Spanish Latte with a side of buttered toast and honey in your castle. I’m aware of your pride as much as I’m aware of your dismay, and I feel that my pain aches you, and my joy relieves you more when it leads to no further pain. I didn’t come to tell you about what’s been done to me, what I did, or what I would do… You already know these things; you might even know some of them before they cross my journey. I’m not addressing you today, tonight, for my life, maybe in another letter, but not this one. I’m here to miss you and thank you for yours.
No woman could or will ever replace you; these are not just my words. Your mother-in-law still repeats this sentence as if it’s the Azan that echoes five times a day at least, just so she reminds you of the space you left, the warmth you left, behind by going to your castle in heaven. None of us has ever wanted you to leave, not that soon, and I know that you, the woman who taught me the paramount importance of presence, wouldn’t have wanted to go absent yourself, but fate decided that Earth was never fit to hold the love and goodness of thine, so it sent you to the Seraphim, with whom you belong. It’s not just my grandma, your mother-in-law, that repeats that sentence, though; it would take me a notebook as big as the ones you journaled poetically in to write the names, just the names, of the people who miss you genuinely. You left a positive impact on the hearts and journeys of hundreds. I doubt you’d ever be forgotten; it would take at least three generations of people dying for your name to die on Earth, but I already made it my life mission to keep your name everywhere.
Mother, I know you’ve always wanted me to pursue my dreams and be the most ambitious, dreamy, and successful man of our bloodline. You sacrificed your dreams to invest in mine, but the fact that you’ve never completely detached from them makes me dream for both of us; your twenties dreams are my current ambition. I’m dreaming for both of us, I’m writing for both of us, maybe in two different languages indeed, but in the same tongue and heart.
Mother, you feel like spring, you’re like the spring sun that’s seen everywhere, so yearned, and never escaped. I see you within me whenever I’m sitting in a corner in silence, with music in my ears, and just letting out words that don’t really expect a large audience, written just for the love of expression and the relief of letting go. I see you in your small carbon copy, my sister, in the way she cooks, the way she cares for strangers with all modesty and goodwill, the way she wears her scarf five times a day to pray the same way you prayed, and the way she ties her hair back before focusing on a task. Her life isn’t easy, so I’m trying my best to make it easier for her the way you wanted me to, but what fascinates me is the resilience she got from you, the fierceness of a smile to move on with life, even during the darkest times. She really looks like you, and she really acts like you, despite her only seeing you for seven years. I know for a fact that you’ve been with her up until nineteen, and you’ll forever be present with her up until forever, and so should I.
Mother, everyone I know saw you as significant; you’ve never been casual in anybody’s life. I believe I won life’s lottery just by having you as my mother. With all due respect to every mother and woman on earth, no woman has ever been as loving and loved; even Mother Mary has been hated by the jews, even Aretha Franklin had haters from the community of Blues, even Umm Kulthum’s been criticized on the news, but I fail to see anybody having the slightest negative memory or opinion about you. You’re a woman that history would never repeat. My colleagues who were once yours still remember how you came to work despite their opposition due to your illness, and they still remember how you were so dedicated to educating children you never gave birth to, with the same passion you dedicated to raising my sister and me, and with all the pure love you hold within your heart. My father’s grandma still tears up your loss to this date, because you were the only person who loved every member, every generation of the family she built unconditionally, and helped around the house with a joyful face, although nobody has ever asked you to. Your siblings, your mother, your nieces and cousins, all of them saw you as a mother, and now perceive you as a saint.
Mother, you’re aware of the many times I wanted to join you up there because you know I know you’re the only person who’d really stick with me forever, but I’m aware of your refusal. God sends me the toughest battles, so you send me strength through people who make my life easier and encourage me in the pursuit of greatness. You’re aware that many times, death feels more merciful to me, so you keep on sending me lifelines. I’ll live longer for you, I’ll love longer for you, not for my own personal greatness, but just so the whole world knows your name, saint spring.
I love you. Happy Mother’s Day, Mother Spring.
Until the next letter.