Like Mother, Like Daughter
“Aru mamma nu jheenakru, kon che mamma nu jheenakru” My darling Armeen, your mom would look over you and sing this song to you every time (while doing a little jig), since the day you were born, which basically implies that you were a little bundle of her whole entire life.
Armeen, baby girl, I am writing this letter to you because I know there are going to be some days (well, probably more than some) when you will be looking around for answers. Lots of them. There probably will be days when you’re feeling down and out and don’t know where your “Strong” is anymore. There’s also probably going to be some days when you want someone to help you with how to deal with certain things in your life but aren’t sure about who to go to. I am writing this post in the hope that when you read this, you find the courage to draw inspiration from none other than your own self.
One day before writing this, your dad told us about one particular incident involving you. You and him were looking at Sam’s pictures and watching some of her videos. At that moment, you looked up to him and said, “Dad, wouldn’t it be so great if Mamma was here with us?” Armeen my doll, nobody could ever imagine what would have been going through in your head during the whole ordeal back in 2015, or what you were possibly making out of it. All we could see was a little 3 year old girl, who grew up way too fast and was handling the situation better than any of us ever could. When we heard about what you said, it made us sad. We just want you to know one thing – your Mamma is always with you. Remember when we said she’s gone into your heart and you can talk to her whenever you want to? Well, that holds true even till today and will continue to hold true forever. There isn’t going to be a passing moment in your life that your mother is not going to be a part of. Believe it.
It was one of those life altering days at the hospice where a very nice young lady, your art therapist (I forget her name), decided to take you to her room for some drawing. We didn’t think you’d be gone for more than five minutes but you came back with her after three hours. You were holding a drawing that you had made of your mamma. Your therapist told us about the conversation you two had about the drawing. It turns out, you made that particular picture of your mamma with hair on her head, because, in your own words, “this mamma is not sick”. When the therapist asked you if you knew that your mamma was unwell, you nodded and said yes. When she asked you if you thought mamma was going to get better, you nodded and said no. To this day, we are still trying to figure out how you knew that, because we promise you, not once did we ever tell you that she wasn’t going to get better.
At the hospital and at the hospice, everybody was your best friend. All the doctors, nurses, staff, they all loved you and you were the center of attention at all times. Not very different from your mother, I must say. Watching you move around the corridors of the hospital, smiling and chatting with anybody who crossed your path, would remind me of the one incident of your mother’s life that she always took great pride in (not to forget, rub it in my face at every opportunity she got because she and I were such different personalities!). When she was all of 3 years old, your Nana and Nani had taken her to Queen Mary School, Sam’s second home for 10 years and undoubtedly, the place she loved the most. It was the day of the admissions and the school had a policy of sending the child out with a bunch of senior kids to mingle while the Head Mistress would speak to the parents. Upon stepping out of the Head Mistress’ office, Nana and Nani could hear a lot of noise in the playground below them. They looked over the balcony in the corridor and were pleasantly surprised to see what they did. Baby Sameera was in the center of a huge human circle formed by the senior kids who all shouted in chorus “My name is” and Sameera would shout out even louder “SAMEERA!!” and this would be met with squeals of “awwwww” and “sooo cutee”, etc., not to forget loud clapping! This went on for a few times before my parents got to her and forcefully took her back home. It’s uncanny how much like her you are.
Another incident that comes to mind from some of the life altering days in 2015 was when you woke up in your bed one morning and told your dad that your mom was sleeping next to you through the night. Actually, your mom was sleeping at the hospice, but somehow you just sensed her being next to you and that’s what put you to sleep peacefully that night. When we heard about it in the morning, we were so sure that a part of Sam was right there with you, holding you through the night, just as she always did and will always continue to do for the rest of your life.
Armeen, we all feel like you somehow, were always on top of things that were going on back in 2015. It was almost as if Sam was, in a way, conveying the messages to you, things that we never knew how to talk to you about. You took in everything that was going on and not only did you manage yourself beautifully but you managed us, your family, better than we could have ever done ourselves. I remember when I visited you in June that same year, you wouldn’t let go of your mamma and wanted her by your side every single minute that she was around. When I came back in September to the terrible news, it was amazing to watch you slowly get used to her not being around and find ways to adjust to a different kind of life. Not once did you cry, or throw a fit, about wanting to sleep with your mamma, as any other child your age probably would. You would visit her in the hospital every day, hold her hand, kiss her tight and say your goodbyes when it was time to leave. No questions asked. You would pray to God every night and ask him to make your mamma feel better as it was the only wish you had. I remember the day we said our final goodbyes to Sam, I took you outside for a walk. All you wanted to do at that time was to go back in and give your daddy a hug because he was sad. Where you found so much compassion from is no surprise and where you found so much wisdom from is no surprise either - you are the most important part of Sameera’s life and there isn’t a piece of Sameera anywhere in the world, or outside of it for that matter, that isn’t compassionate or wise. You would often say, “I am little Sameera. I love my mamma so much and she loves me so much too.” You’re damn right she does! And you’re also damn right about you being little Sameera. No one else could fit that role better. :)
Stay healthy, Armeen!
Love you always,