Every story has a beginning; every human, a journey…
Ones beginnings has a very large impact on our lives, our journeys, our path towards our destinies. It says a lot about who we are, how we’ve become the beings that exist now. Life, and it’s many experiences; moulds us, breaks us, picks us back up, destroys our hope, rebuilds our faith, reunites us with the glimmer of peace that exists within our souls.
From the very beginning, our moments count, impact and influence who we are. It is probably why I particularly like stories of beginnings; of the day we were born. Specifically, my story…especially the way my mom told it. It always makes me feel special, and loved, and glad to be alive….
My story starts one fateful winters day, in the middle of July. My mom was 29 and I was her fourth, tucked away, curled up in the womb. Unflinching. Silent. Motionless. Panic stricken and hysterical, my mother (and I) were escorted to the hospital in an ambulance, leaving a small one year old behind (that would be Deed) and two older kids as well (age 4 & 6). There was a slight heartbeat, my mom says. Hope….
I was born blue, not breathing, and mom was in trouble too. A few slaps on the bottom, and a shrill shriek (I haven’t quite gotten rid of the shrill) later, I had made it into the world, fighting for a chance. There’s a reason we both survived to tell the tale (well, mom tells it; I’m retelling), why our hearts continue to beat, rhythmically, harmoniously; why our souls continue to linger.
Now this may sound like a dramatically tragic story, one made for Hollywood movies, but strangely enough, I am not much different than that baby who made her way into the world 34 years ago, and the bond I have with my mother is unwavering. My mom still knows my every move one would swear she’s installed a tracking device!!! And she’s extremely intuitive about my well-being without me having to say a thing.
Although my name, Namreen, means softness, which I am in many ways; soft-hearted, sensitive, caring and nurturing; I am also every bit a fighter, an unassuming suit of armour, a rose who guards her petals with a stem of thorns…
For the longest time, I assumed this story was about me, but this story…my story…is nothing without my mom. Who continues to face the world with courage, who will always have her children’s best interests at heart, who will valiantly fight alongside her kids; from the day we were born, until the day we cease to be…
Mom and me 2012
Dad’s favourite ;-)…He would wake each of us up on our birthdays singing “Happy Birthday”. I do the exact same with my kids now!!
Love you both eternally,