silence vow - day 5

when i was three, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. the doctors said it was the most vicious type, that it was still in its early stages, but that survival rates were not too positive. 

she went home that night and made a silent prayer. she prayed to God to let her get through this, just long enough to see me grow old enough to brush my own hair.

i have memories. i was a child, but i remember; i know i have the memory of my school entrance exam, when mom was with me, but not the memory of my first day at school, when they took her to operate on her breast, though dad says he held my hand that day. i remember when she asked me if i wanted to come with her and help her pick out her new hair. i remember how it broke my heart watching her try on the fake piece on her bold head without a blink of weakness. i remember how i hated it, and how i wished she didn't have to wear it, even though her bold head scared me. i remember how she used to get cold in winter because of her chemically induced illness. i remember it clearly; we were in the parking lot. the cold wind ruffled her fake hair. instinctively she held it to her head. then she told me it was exceptionally cold that year. i remember sitting by her bed as she thrashed in pain. just me and her. lights out, because even the light made her nauseated. i dunno why, but in my memories it's just me and her; as if i was her little confider, and none of my (elder) brother or sister existed. 

today i write about this; a taboo topic in my books. something i never deal with, because i want to keep it in the black of the past. but i shouldn't. i really shouldn't. i really shouldn't fear hospitals anymore. i really shouldn't melt into tears when i walk into one. i should be proud of my mother.

today i'm twenty-three. i brush my hair every day. in fact i've been blessed with amazing hair; no one believes it to be "real" or natural. fate does find a way to be ironic. she has made it this far; we have made it this far, thanks and praise be only to His grace. 

in college, in anthropology, i learnt that silence is the label of those who are condemned to live in the margins. but someone came to me today. a usually very reserved friend; she came, and (obviously) without me asking, she told me about something troubling her. "i'm telling you this because you can't talk."

how many of us are looking for a listening ear, and only that? how many of us are looking for someone to confide in? i might have blacked out much of my childhood, but the little i remember, is mostly silent. remembering it is like diving under water; the vision waves and the sound lulls. it's my present self-assumed silence that brought back what has been sternly buried, or drowned.

so maybe no. maybe silence is much more powerful than we think. maybe silence has been overwritten and underrated because in the cacophony of our own words, we never really understood silence. silence, like love, cannot be understood. silence, like love, can only be experienced. 

so my fifth day goes to you my silent warrior. to you who have overcome a cancer that silently crept beneath your breast, with the permission of the All Mighty. it's twenty years later, and i pray to God to let you live long enough to brush my daughter's hair. happy warriors day mom.