About two months ago my mother
got onto an airplane and went to visit family in Bangladesh. A week after her leaving, my father
followed. He would be back a month later;
she would spend another month and then come home. In the grand scheme of things, 1-2 months may
not appear to be a vast amount of time to be gone from home and hearth, not
when one is visiting the motherland but let me tell you, it has been pure agony
for me.
My dad returned two weeks ago and
my mother is coming back on Monday. I
cannot freakin’ wait. I spoke to her
last night and was a bit worried. She
has been sick throughout the majority of her vacation. This didn’t worry me for the normal reason,
her health is always important to me and so knowing she was sick and so far
away made me severely unhappy anyhow, but more importantly there could have
been an off chance that she would have to cancel her return flight. NO!
This just would not do. But
thankfully I heard the magical words coming from across the miles, “I just miss
and want to come home”. Oh thank
Allah. I responded with a repressed, “yes,
you should definitely come home”. I don’t
like putting pressure on anyone, much less my parents, however this doesn’t
change the fact that I need my parents around.
First though, before I write on,
let me ask for pardon from those of you out there who are without yours. My heart goes out to you and this blog isn’t
meant to be painful. It’s not intended
to cause you discomfort or even jealousy or cause you to say to yourself ‘at least
you have yours, suck it up”. Yes, I know
this and I am blessed and thank God every day for their presence in my
life. I cannot imagine a day in which I
will be without them and frankly do not wish to. Please understand that this blog is only
about my feelings towards my ‘rentals and my love for them. It’s as simple as that.
So back to what I was
saying: my mother assured me she was
coming back after which I put the phone down and breathed out a great sigh of
relief. I started to mentally calculate
in my head the next few days. Saturday I
would grocery shop, Sunday I would cook, Sunday night I would drop the food off
to my parents place, Monday I would wait anxiously for her return and be sad
that I couldn’t go to receive her at the airport but reasoned with myself that
next Friday I would go and spend the whole blessed weekend next to her. This is what I do. I'm a planner. I can’t help it.
During their absence though, the
one good thing was that Dad took his iPad with him and somehow figured out how
to FaceTime me. By the time he got back
I felt like he had never left, that they were but one click away, which they
actually were, however when he returned he brought his iPad back so I guess I’ve
missed seeing my mommy’s face. Anyway during
one of these video sessions with them, I was at home sick, eyes sunken, fever
high, hacking cough shaking my body. The
minute my parents saw me they both gasped, voices softening, sounds of concern
coming from over the distance. And guess
what I did? I reverted back to a 10 year
old. My eyes filled with tears as I
tried to convince them that I was fine but that wasn’t happening, not through
the sniffling and the ginormous lump in my throat.
Why is it, when it comes to our
parents, we instantly hop into our mental Delorian’s (is that how one spells
the name of the car that McFly used in Back
to the Future?) and are reduced to needy, crybabies. Don’t tell me it’s only me? *looks around a bit frantically*
I can’t lie, folks, I’m a ‘parents
girl’. I didn’t write that
incorrectly. I’m not differentiating
between my mother and father here. And no
matter how this admission may make me sound lame, I have to have my parent’s approval.
I don’t care what it is, down to the smallest thing, if they don’t nod
and smile, I never quite feel complete. The
whole world can give me kudos but if they haven’t, it’s just not the same.
So these last few months of the
parents being gone has been challenging. There was of course the whole being sick and
needing (actually wanting) to be babied.
But other moments were as tough.
For instance, I missed daddy every Tuesday for music class. I missed him calling me and saying ‘do you
even remember this poor man’ or informing me (with smugness) how he discovered
a cool new app on the iPhone that I shouldn’t be able to live without. I’ve even missed him reminding me endlessly
to practice singing.
As for Mom, well I’ve missed her
asking me where I am, what I’m doing, telling me to eat right, sleep well and
basically everything else under the sun.
A mother’s love, if you ask me, is unlike any other type in the
universe. Not that dad is any less but
moms? Well, whatever God granted upon
them is indescribable. Their very
presence makes a house a home (as clichéd as this may be).
I love my big bro, but he doesn’t
make my childhood home the home I know, that’s all my parents doing. Which explains why I’ve gone ‘home’ only once
in this whole time and that too only to gaze up at the basement ceiling. Don’t ask. After which I sort of ran away. Without my dad downstairs giving classes or
my mother upstairs cooking up something that smelled so good that drool would
pool in your mouth, it’s just not the same.
With the return of the two, under
the same roof, I look forward to going home.
I’m sure to have those moments when I’ll want to escape them (and which
kid doesn’t?) the fact remains is that my parents…totally rock. Yup, I said it and I may have just dated
myself for saying it and coming off sounding totally lame, but I own this
proclamation.
Anyhow, have a great weekend
folks. Hope it’ll be more restful than
mine.
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