My mother was born in 1961 to loving parents but, unfortunately, not a loving family. When she was in her early teens, already beginning a career in radio with a voice as clear and refreshing as spring water, her beloved father was struck down by a stroke, confined to his bed for the rest of his life. My maternal grandfather was the protective cocoon which fell away that day, exposing my mother to the full extent of the brutality and jealousy of her relatives, including some of her own blood siblings.
Her elder brother, who eloped with his own cousin - an evil woman whose arrival brought ruin for my mother's family - beat her mercilessly and drove her out of her home and into my father's, where she was subjected to yet more anguish and humiliation.
Even through all of this, with scarcely any support from the rest of her family, she persevered. She studied for her Bachelor's degree while raising a young son and even made it most of the way through a Master's before eventually abandoning it to commit herself to her family. She worked in a bank and co-ran a radio station, the first public radio station in Bangladesh.
I was born much later in her life but she loved me with all her heart. I was her little doll, the light in her life reestablished after the death of her father had snuffed it out years earlier. I grew up with her as the center of my world and I would not trade that for anything.
Though she raised a family and created a little world of her own, she was hurt by the ruthlessness of her family, especially her siblings. She loved them and gave without asking for anything in return; they scammed her out of her share in her father's property. She went to them whenever they needed; they froze her out of their lives. There was nothing she could do to win their love and these experiences, all this pain, made her slightly bitter later on in life. She was a woman forever concealing her broken heart with something.
In 2011, she was diagnosed with cancer and beat it with the same stern dedication with which she had conquered the other mountainous challenges in her life. In 2018, she lost her husband (and in some way her son with it), who left without being able (not for a lack of trying) to establish a permanent home for his family. Still, she persevered and parented two grieving children alone, standing firm in the face of indescribable adversity for eight years.
My mother, in short, is one of the most remarkable people in this world. A model example for others to follow. Beautiful in both form and spirit, she has the innocence and sunny disposition of a child. She deserved to live the absolute best life anyone could live.
She could have been rich and famous. She could've enjoyed a life of luxury abroad. She could've had children who were easier to raise and a husband who appreciated her fully for everything she is.
But she did not get any of that. She got a life that most people would shudder at, that the God she believes in so fervently ought to have meted out as punishment to the many people who hurt her.
Nothing takes away from the fact that she blessed this earth by existing on it, blessed the lives of the people she interacted with even briefly.
But she is dying today. Due to the cruelty of people who would not let her enjoy her own home. Due to the negligence and sabotage of three different hospitals. She is dying and it's not peaceful or painless. She is dying of f*cking sepsis, entirely preventable. Nothing makes sense.
If she leaves this world, it is poorer, dimmer, infinitely less worth living in. Wherever she goes next, she will bless. I will go with her because I cannot live with the curse of her absence.