Monday, October 24, 2016

A Letter From A Muslim Mom to a Catholic Mom About Our Dying Children

November 11, 2008 by  
Filed under NPC Family Stories

Hisan Pakistan

Dear Chris,

I am not a very interesting person…and as of now only a brokenhearted one. I had a very nice childhood, a loving family and fun loving friends, got what I wanted, studied what I wanted or where I wanted. I was taught never to do anything bad with others, only to help the less privileged ones.  I was a top student, had many distinctions during my academic career and somehow or the other became the first on camera female reporter of the state run news television in Pakistan.

I was the youngest one in the media circles to have worked with the decision makers at the highest corridors of power and traveled with my country’s President and the head of the Government, the PM to their visits abroad.  During my international traveling, I met with the world leaders, was praised for my work for being the one who would not compromise on any news story for political expediency and yet was surviving well.  Whenever I used to go out with my family – people would recognize me and ask for my autograph.

But that was not what was the best thing that happened to me…it was Hisan….. who although lost his father very early in his life was a wonderful and delightful child.  Being a single mother, I thought I would give Hisan the best of everything so that no one would think that he did not get what he desired since he had no father.  I wanted so much to give Hisan and education abroad as I had to miss my scholarship when I got married.  I guess it’s the same unfinished agenda on my life that I wanted so much for have Hisan have.  I believe every parent looks towards his or her child in terms of their unfulfilled aspirations.  I had many offers in my hand but I regretted to all as I wanted Hisan to be near to me.  I left the most coveted beat and resigned from my media position when I thought I was missing Hisan on the way.  People thought that I was crazy for doing that…..a professional suicide. As for me, I never once regretted my decision.

You see it is not me who is important in this is Hisan…the ‘miracle boy’ who had left the most experienced and seasoned doctors in awe owing to his resilience and bravery to fight back this pathetic Niemann Pick Type C disease. Once in a code blue situation, Hisan came back after 45 minutes of CPR, all soaked in a pool of his own blood…and went home to spend some very memorable time with his family.

Hisan was the favorite of all… it doctors, nurses, therapists…he would have the pricks done on him without crying…would keep quiet even in extreme pain and his eyes would always exude compassion…tolerance and a certain peacefulness that would put me to shame. When everyone had lost hope Hisan would fight back and lead the doctors to think otherwise. His fighting spirit would prove everyone wrong.

I would become the proud Mom of a very special child.  He would never let me down..never..and it became an altogether different story that my heart would cut in shreds upon every needle that was poked in him.  Never mind missing Stanford.  One after another he lost everything except his beautiful eyes that would tell everything to his Mom and his beautiful spirit.  He died so peacefully.  So becoming of him.  I cry for him each time and I mourn him.  My world is not only blank, it is meaningless as I have lost the will to live anymore.  The only thing matters to me is the long drawn wait that I have to go through to meet him some time when he is happy and without the monster.   You ask for my religion?  For me it is probably not a bad bargain after all to give him back soon and then to have him forever…that’s my belief as a human being and as a Muslim too.
Love to your Princesses!
Nabiha, Pakistan

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6 Responses to “A Letter From A Muslim Mom to a Catholic Mom About Our Dying Children”
  1. ellan814 says:

    This really shows that there are still folks that care about what they submit on the internet. I actually liked browsing the comments.

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