This weekend is going to be incredibly hard. It’s Mother’s day and the end of Ramadan when we’ll celebrate Eid Al-Fitr. It’s meant to be a time of love, family and celebration, but for me, it’s going to be a weekend of what I’ve lost.
I’m barely holding on, dreading the next few days. It’s my first Mother’s Day and Eid without you.
A Weekend of Loss and Love
It’s ironic that Mother’s Day is all about celebrating our love for our mums, but for those of us grieving it’s also a painful reminder of this huge empty space in our lives. I think it’s a little too raw for me at the moment to think of the good memories we shared on Mother’s Day.
But Eid is going to be even harder without you. Eid has always been about family, about togetherness, about giving thanks for the blessings in our lives. But this year, it feels like my blessings are slipping away, and there’s nothing that resembles joy.
How do I celebrate Eid?
It’s always been the moment when we come together after a month of spiritual reflection & prayer.
I’m trying to stay positive, but I don’t know how to celebrate when you’re not here with me.
Memories of Eids Past
I can’t stop thinking about those Eid’s from my childhood, where you were at the centre of it all. I remember you and half a dozen women prepping and cooking lunch for half the neighbourhood, sitting on stools in the back garden chopping humongous amounts of onions, washing rice, and preparing lamb using those restaurant size pots and pans.
The outdoor stove would be on, steam spewing from it and the smells of the spices and food drifting across the neighborhood. But there were no shortcuts for you back then, no deliveries, no shop bought substitutes.
Everything was made by hand, down to the flatbreads and samosas. Then, when everything was ready, people would gather, sitting on the floor in groups, eating from shared platters of rice, lamb, and salad. You’d be shouting instructions in the background, making sure everyone was fed before you sat down at the end of the day to finally eat.
I miss those days. Things changed over the years, of course. The gatherings have become smaller, not as large as it once was, mainly just close family now. Things are ordered in rather than cooked from scratch but that didn’t matter.
What mattered was everyone coming, being grateful, feeling that love and chance to catch up with those we’d not been able to see. And you were always treated like a queen.
Eid Morning Without You, Mum
I don’t know how I’m going to feel when I wake up on the morning of Eid, but I’m dreading it. In the past, I had my own special Eid routine with you. I had to wake you extra early because we needed to travel to Cardiff to get to the Mosque for early morning Eid prayers.
I loved those mornings with you, getting you ready on my own, no care workers, taking our time and making sure everything was perfect.
I can still picture it, making sure your Eid clothes were hung up the night before, finding the right scarf, perfume and setting out your jewellery. I’d set up the wheelchair the night before, so you were ready to go the Mosque first thing where everyone else was gathering.
You’d be greeted by everyone, surrounded by family and old friends you hadn’t seen in ages who were dealing with their own frailty.
After the mosque you’d be taken to someone’s home and spend the day eating and being with family. You’d come home so tired, full of good food and stories of all the grandkids that you saw, but as your dementia progressed there were less stories as you forgot the day’s activities, but you came home with that smile, tired but definitely uplifted.
That made me feel good for you.
I used to treat those days as my respite time, time for myself at home, now I look at that time as wasted, that was time I could’ve been spending with you.
Honouring You in My Own Way
Now, I’m facing my first Eid without you, everything feels wrong. Everyone keeps calling asking me to come up or checking that I won’t be alone on Eid, but I don’t want to be surrounded by lots of people, I never did before, but this time it’s not the same, it won’t feel like respite, it’ll just feel empty.
I keep crying writing this, as all the memories keep flooding back into my head, knowing that I won’t see you again.
The memories are a reminder of everything I’ll never have again. In truth, I think I know what I’ll do on Eid day. I’ll go to Cardiff, just as before. Only this time, it won’t be to help you visit the family but to visit you at the cemetery.
I can’t bear not being able to see you. I have so much to tell you, we’ve welcomed a new great grandbaby into the family, and I know how much you would’ve loved to see him.
The End of Ramadan
This Ramadan has been so hard without you. I’ve tried to not let the negative thoughts overwhelm me. I tried to embrace the spiritual aspects of it to help with my grief, but it doesn’t change the fact that I miss you so much. Every night as I broke my fast, I prayed for you. I prayed for your release from pain, prayed you were in Jannah seeing your mum & dad, and asking for your forgiveness.
Those prayers gave me comfort each day.
Moving Forward, One Day at a Time
I know the celebrations and festivities will go on around me, people will celebrate as normal but it won’t be the same for me.
Mother’s Day was never our biggest celebration, but having it coincide with Eid this year makes your absence harder to deal with, maybe when the day comes, I’ll stop by and visit the family after visiting you, and that might help but I don’t know.
They say it gets easier with time, but right now, facing my first Eid without you, it just reminds me of what I’ve lost, nothing feels the same without you here. It’s too raw and hard to see the positives.
This Eid will be the first of many “big” occasions without you, so much we won’t do together anymore and the only way I’ll get through them is to remember the love we shared, the life we had and being lucky enough to have cared for you.
I hope I can find that smile you used to come home with. I love you, Mum. Happy Eid.
Oh Cat, so sending all the love your way. Love the sound of your Eid mornings of the past and with Mum. I can picture it all.
Hope you manage to give yourself some grace today. It’s such a hard day.
Love Katy x
Thank you, Katy. It was a difficult day but we made the best of it, visiting mum, the sunshine, seeing family all helped. i’m glad I made myself go out rather than stay in with my thoughts, as you just feel worse, but really appreciate your kind words
This sentence struck me particularly strong…
“I’m trying to stay positive, but I don’t know how to celebrate when you’re not here with me.”
…because what followed was a celebration of memories, a retelling of love in honor of your mom. Being positive was not required to celebrate her with these beautiful words, just the love of times past to help move through the pain of times present.
Don’t ask more of yourself than you are ready to give. Recognize when you give yourself what you need. Be proud of yourself for both.
I am proud of you.
Thank you, that made me cry, but it is exactly what happened on the day, instead of sitting at home. I went to visit her with my sister and niece and through laughter and tears we shared “love of times past to help move through the pain of times present”. It really did help to be with others. Thank you for your kind words, sometimes i need to be forced to move, and I give credit to my niece and others on making sure I wasn’t alone in my thoughts for most of the day. You’re right to say its when you are ready to give, but sometimes we need the support of family and friends to move us out our on stupor of grief, even for just a brief time. Thank you again for your comment, Kitty.