Our parents’ humaneness
A few weeks ago I saw a post that read: how old were you when you began seeing your parents as people and not as a “parental entity”? But as a person with needs, flaws, fears, weaknesses, vulnerabilities, dreams etc?
This is the statement that is going through my mind as I look at my mum following me into the triage room at the hospital. She insists on carrying my bag, staying as I have my vitals taken by the nurse. “Mum! Please leave, I’m fine,” I tell her. She doesn’t budge. She was meant to go shopping with my sister when I called her 30 minutes ago in a daze.
“Mum, have you left the house? I need you to bring me another pair of shoes,” I say. I can hear the confusion in her voice as she asks me why. “I’ve been…. I’ve been in an accident.” I realize I’m stuttering. My voice sounds foreign to my ears, the phone shaking uncontrollably in my hands. I can tell my upper lip is beginning to swell under my mask and suddenly notice the small brown pebbles, hard under my bare feet.
I register a crowd gathering around me, around the matatu whose wheels now point towards the sky. I don’t remember crawling out of it, all I can remember is a loud crash and being tossed around before an unexpected stop. The driver is moaning, calling for people and on God to save him, to get him out from where he is trapped. There are young men in black overalls I didn’t notice arrive breaking windows with crowbars, blood dripping from their hands as they try to extricate him. All I can see is his blue shirt, a faceless man crying for help. Next to me is a woman looking for her child, borrowing my phone to make a call, holding it the wrong way, me not correcting her.
I am looking at the road waiting for my mum to arrive, waiting for my mum to get here and do what, I do not know. There is pain in my head and on my legs but I don’t quite know what to do about it. My sandals are found; they are covered in blood. It’s not mine, I think, I can’t see any cuts on me.
None of these assuages my mother when she arrives in a complete state of panic. Her friend, driving us to the hospital reassures her of my safety. She is not really having it. An hour later, when I manage to convince her the doctor says I’m fine, x-rays and all, she finally leaves.
It is the first time I’ve seen my mum’s fear, a mother afraid of losing her child, a woman unable to imagine burying her child.
Growing up, you must know, my mum was an indomitable force. We lived in fear of her. In our mind and eyes, she was a giant capable of meting out the most unforgettable of beatings. She was an all-knowing god who would find out our every transgression, whether done in her presence or in secret. Her word was the gospel truth, her orders unquestionable.
Now that I’m older, I’ve come to the realization that she is a bold woman, yes, vivacious and ever so loving. She is my Dad’s wife, affectionate; my grandparents’ daughter; obedient; my aunts’ and uncles’ sister, self- sacrificing; a teacher, devoted to her students. She is like me, a people’s person. My sisters last week joked and said that if the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I didn’t fall at all.
She is a woman with her own set of beliefs, not all resonate with me anymore. She is a human being, strengths, weaknesses, fears and all.
When we get home in the evening, I jokingly tell her she is no longer my emergency contact, that I need someone that can be cool under pressure.
This woman that gave me life; her fear today made her all the more human to me.
Check on your parents today will you?
