madar means mom

It’s my mom’s birthday today. Happy Birthday to her. I am so lucky to have my mother as my mother. She is one of the best things in my life even though sometimes she annoys me. I love her to pieces. But, I don’t want to talk about how great my mother is in this post because a lot of people think their mother’s are great. I am sure they are. Honestly, I have nothing to prove to know one. We were all given our certain parents for a reason.

So today, I am going to share my mother’s first memory. It is a sad memory and it will be probably the opening chapter to my novel someday. But, I think this memory has given my mother compassion and really shaped her as a women, a daughter, a mother and so on.

Najia’s (my mom) first memory was when she was four years old. It was a cold rainy in Kabul, Afghanistan. A sick Najia laid down with her grandmother as she held her. It was 1am, when there was a loud bang in the backyard. The entire house was woken up. Najia’s mother, grandma, grandpa, siblings, aunts and uncles all came down from their rooms. Everyone thought a burglar was trying to break into the house or steal stuff from the backyard. Najia’s grandpa went outside to investigate when he saw his son laying on the floor with head bleeding. Immediately, they brought him inside. They didn’t think it was a big deal and decided to take him to the doctor in the morning. Najia laid by his leg. She was crying because she knew something was wrong. Her father, Saboor, couldn’t move or talk. He was trying to communicate but he couldn’t. There was blood coming from his scalp. He died two hours later. Najia felt his body shake and then go very still. She cried harder and when her grandmother came to check on her, she realized that her son had just died. Saboor left behind a wife and five kids. The oldest child was six and the youngest child was six months old.

Happy Birthday to my mama.

Thank you Allah for blessing me with my mom.


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