Just the Two of Us

On this Mother's Day

Mother’s day didn’t exist for me until 6 years ago, when I became a mother myself, because I didn’t have a mother to celebrate. It was always a sad day; a day of reflection of all the ways being without a mother affected me. I thought about all the womanly things I had to learn on my own; how to do my hair, relationship issues, and more importantly, how to overcome challenges of being and becoming a woman. I thought of my friends and their relationships with their mothers; great at best, and at worst, pretty horrible. My mother left me to be raised by my paternal grandmother when I was about less than 40 days old. Legend has it that we  met again when I was four, but of course, I don’t remember that, and I probably didn’t recognize her as my mother, because you see, my grandmother had become my mother at that point; my first and my only. She even renamed me, Ladan, because I was hers and hers alone.

            When I was six, my father came for me. Well, not directly, he sent for me. My grandmother couldn’t be contained. She was reported to have said,” My Ladan, I didn’t realize she belonged to someone else.” She loved me, that woman. She raised me as her own, and I think of her today on Mother’s Day. I think of my biological mother, at times, but my real mother was always my Hooyo Hawa.  I remember, I always slept in her hut, and no one else could come anywhere near her; she was mine. I claimed her. I protected her goats, like they were mine too. I often had brutal fights with my cousins, male or female, over my Hooyo’s property; she, and everything hers was mine, and they couldn’t touch it. I suppose it didn’t occur to me that she was their grandmother too.

            Hooyo and I did everything together. She was firm, and direct, but so gentle and loving. I mean, that woman even burned my thumb one time, because I wouldn’t stop sucking it. She’s also the woman that fought hard for me, and let nothing, and no one hurt me. I slept beside her every night, and she took me with her even when she went for the call of nature.  She didn’t trust anyone else with me. I was her most precious thing, and she made it known that I was special; her Ladan.  She sang to me as she held me songs of praise, or “ammaan” in Somali. Ladanay, adigaa aduunka oogu roon, qalbiyay adigaa ammaan istaahishid. I loved that woman. (My Ladan, you are the best in the world. My heart, you deserve all the praise).

            When she died, I cried like there was no tomorrow. I was living with father and my stepmother at that point. My father wanted me to call my stepmother, Hooyo, but I already had a Hooyo! I resented that immensely. No one could replace my Hooyo; she was my heart, my soul, and my sanctuary. She was my peace in this world of chaos, confusion, and loneliness. She kept me company when I closed my eyes, and I thought of her.  When I heard of her passing, I felt sick, and lonely. I was already alone in that house, and now the comfort that I had, my Hooyo and the memories, I had no more. But she didn’t pass. Someone lied to my father, and tricked him into sending money for her “funeral.” In fact, my Hooyo was alive and kicking and she called to let that be known.         

            But she wasn’t going to live forever, and she really did pass in ’99. I didn’t know what to believe, but I knew I couldn’t cry then. I hadn’t seen her, or felt her touch in 6 years. I felt numb, and sick to the pit of my stomach, but at that point, I got used to the loneliness.

            Then on March 1^st, 2007, I welcomed a beautiful, and big (I mean 8 pounds 9 ounces, and 21 inches big!) boy into the world. He became my world. I looked into his eyes as I was holding him, and promised him,” I will always love you, take care of you, and your heart, and never leave you. You will always be safe with your mother. “I promised to him that I would be the mother that I had, my Hooyo who loved me and protected me, and I would never leave him, as the mother I didn’t have, did. Every night, his little body rested on my chest, and I felt the peace and love, I had been missing for so long. I never wanted to put him down. He was my angel of redemption. I love that boy.

            Today, six years later, I am still in awe of him. I am ever so grateful to be a mother. There were times, I didn’t know what to do, or how to do something, when it came to mothering, but I knew love was at the base of the pyramid. I knew that love was everything, and from there, we lived, strived, and went through so much together. He is my true love in this life. My favorite song of all time is Will Smith’s, “ Just the Two of Us,” and I listen to it today, and I remember how I felt on that hospital bed, my stitches ever so fresh, with a catheter inserted in me, in pain and agony, but also so in love; truly in love for the first time. It was going to be a long road and a rough one too; his father was and remained truly hopeless, and my father, well, that’s another story, but the point is, it was truly, “just the two of us.” We made it. I have a year left to graduate with my bachelors, my son is healthy, smart, and has an amazing heart and personality, and our life is filled with love and peace.  Every day is Mother’s Day for me. A mother’s job never ends and even at night as he’s sleeping, I listen to his breath and feel his chest rising, you know, just to make sure.  When I’m away from him, I’m sick with worry, and god forbid whoever is with him doesn’t answer their phone, and I go running to my baby.  Being a mother means everything to me. I want to raise an emotional sound, and kind person. That would be a job well done for me. No riches in the world can replace kindness. I would be more proud of a kind son than a son with any other measure of success in the world, but unkind.  My son today is more kind than any adult that I know. He helps his friends, he opens the door for me, and carries the groceries without me asking, he tells me every day how much he loves and how he’s proud of me, and he shows me that he is a conscious young person with his little acts of kindness. I love this boy, and so far, I am proud of myself for instilling good values in him, despite what people said about how he would turn out. The joke is on them. Yes, those people that said when I was pregnant, he was going to come out with devil horns (Thanks Dhuuxo) and the ones that said, I should abandon him, because you know he was a wecel (bastard) because I wasn’t married when he was conceived (Thanks, so called family), or the ones that treated us wrong in the name of culture and religion (that I’ve since forsaken). Today, he has more heart and humanity than you, and I am so proud of that. Our life, despite all the negativity and anger we could’ve lived with, is filled with so much love and happiness. And you can never touch that, or take that away from us.

            Today on Mother’s Day and every day, I celebrate you Ridwan, for making me the person and the mother that I am. I am forever grateful to you for saving me from myself, from a life of self-destruction, and emotional abandonment of so called family, and giving me so much hope, and a reason to go on and live every day with a purpose. I love you, Qalbi Deeq.