:: In the style of Scheherazade as she told a tale ::
Let me tell you a story ...My mom had an aneurysm in 1997. She seemed on the road to recovery - or so we thought -but in a few days time, the aneurysm was followed by a massive and devastating stroke. I use the word "devastating" lightly as it does not even being to cover the horror of it all.
The long long long two weeks of coma that followed should have been an indication of how massive of a trauma she had suffered but I was clueless. I sat, staring at her, days on end, wondering if this was it. If she would ever wake up. I spoke to her in my head, pleading to her to wake up, willing her to make it. The ICU nurses, bless their hearts, seeing my profound distress, headed my pleading and allowed me to stay there day and night even though it was quite an unusual thing in the Intensive Care Unit.
When she didn't wake up, I began to pray. Not considering myself religious, having suffered under a politicized version of religion all my life, I began to look for something to cling to. I sat in churches, in Synagogues, in Mosques and in Satsangs - quietly in the back, listening for something to talk back to me and tell me it was going to be OK.
When she did indeed wake up, she looked like she was still sleeping. What I had known of my mother, the superior specimen of above average intelligence, humor and intellect was nowhere to be seen in the milky haze of her brown eyes as she stared back at us as we called her name.
She was moved into the general ward once she was deemed stable. I remember vividly the day, when naively I asked her doctor about when we would be able to go home. The pity in his eyes was more startling than his sobering words: "You are in for the long haul child. Accept that your life will forever be changed. Get yourself ready for a long road to recovery, if she IS to recover at all".
Our family members from across the world came to stay with us - the sweet happiness of seeing them, mingled with the bitterness of being witness to their tears when they would also have the same lightening bolt of understanding - that this person laying on the bed is no longer their beloved sister, their admired daughter.
She could not speak, could not sit up unassisted, could not move her body or even show much facial expression. I watched as if from a distance when physical therapists relentlessly and with a remarkable professional detachment forced her body into a sitting position day after day, ignoring her tears of pain as her spine accepted the seated position once again over the prolonged horizontal one.
I didn't know my heart could break again and again since each time it seemed the heart ache was so final and complete that nothing was left to be broken and yet again here it was ...
The endless pit of despair and
hopelessness
that engulfed us
seemed insurmountable ...
.
.
.
.
:: Scheherazade took a deep breath and glanced outside the window. The dawn was rising and with it the sun of the new day. Another night has been spent weaving a web of a story together, insnaring the listener. She smiled as her eyes fell back on the listener and saw that perhaps another chapter to the tale would be now required ::
Let me tell you another story ...
My mom started a company in 2011. With her measured, carefully chosen steps she takes the bus everyday to her studio space, next to mine. With her sweet warm gentle voice, haltingly but always with a smile, she greets me as she arrives. Settling in for the days work, she scans her half finished project. She picks it up with her one and only working hand and gets started.
In the quiet of her small space, she conducts little miracles of alchemy and wonder as she puts together my ideas and dreams into things that are little wonders. They are lovely to look at, that want to be worn and admired and used once again, and surpass anything my dreaming head could have envisioned.
Time seems to be divided into a neat little cross section of "before" the stroke and "after" the stroke. She used to be an engineer before - and I watch her poke and prod every garment with the same curiosity she tackled every new building she was going to help design and build. She is a survivor after, and she moves on about her life as if she has meant to live this life all along and the "before" has just only been a preparation for the mountainous challenge that she was to face at the age of 52.
Because of what happened to us, I now finally am at peace with my spirituality. Something that I never thought was ever going to be possible. The scars have healed into thicker skin, the repulsion towards anything religious have turned into a quiet yearning for meaning, and purpose and finally to an eagerness to do good in this world.
Everyday, I think of stuff to make - I say .. how about we put THIS here and make that looks like it belongs THERE and then its up to her to figure out how to do it and she delivers every time. Her solutions are often simple and efficient but inherently elegant. I comment and marvel at it and she grins devilishly and knows that she is clever and good at it. I grin back and think, ya .. thats my mom!
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.
.
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This is the end of this story - but just like Scheherazade's stories, it never quite ends, does it. I bear witness to the fact that life finds a way to move forward --- if there is a will.
She is a stroke survivor and my inspiration. She is the one I want to be when I am ready to grow up and have a stroke of my own - well I hope not, but you never know ... at least what I do know though is that
it is NOT the end by any means.
We have chosen Heart and Stroke Foundation as our charity - to mark the journey we have taken together and to show others that life goes on - meaningful life that contributes and adds to the life of others. A percentage of the sales from our garments will be donated to them and we hope our little story will helps others.
In case you still haven't quite put two and two together here it is again:
We are a duo, a dreamer (that would be me) and a maker (that would be my mama) and together we are Scheherazade Banoo, defying death and despair day after day.
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| At Scheherazade Banoo studio - busy making things. |
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