How These Days Pass-4

How These Days Pass - 4

Saturday, June 28, 2008 at 9:50pm
These days are passing slowly, each day seems same like the previous one. Everyday, every moment I'm thinking about Asif, doing things for him. Last few days were very busy with Asif's memorial tribute and bicycle rally. Both the events were back to back. I wanted to keep them at least a week apart, so that I would be able to devote more time to each event, but the Ghost Bike Project planned it differently.

When my baby was around me I was too busy with my study and work. Now that he is gone, I have all the time in the world for him. In reality I stopped doing everything else, except for my job. I don't do much cooking, my baby loved to eat. Everytime I cooked something for him, he had such nice things to say! He always appreciated my cooking. Now, that he is gone, who is going to eat my cooking? I wish I could retire from everything and mourn Asif the whole time. Sometimes I think that you have to be rich or well off to mourn your loved ones. I have to go to work everyday. I don't have the luxury to stay home and mourn my baby. All my life I have been struggling and balancing my time with my study, work, family, writing and other things. I just wish I didn't have to do all these things, but relax so that I could spend more time with my children.

When I was in Bangladedsh, life was different and very relaxing. I always worked 9-5, wrote regularly for the newspapers, did weekly radio talks, took courses in various things, did gardening, but when still I had plenty of time. I didn't have to worry about my groceries, cooking, cleaning, washing or any household chores. My dinner was always ready at the dining table. My afternoon tea was served in the porch as soon as I came home from work. I had plenty of time to write for the newspapers and spend with Moumita. I played with her a lot, read many books to her. But after I came to the United States, my life changed. After I came home from work, every minute of my life went after doing household chores, laundry, grocery, cooking, cleaning, etc. I did my duties as a mother. I took Moumita and Asif to everywhere, doctors, school, Bangla school, movies, parks, museums, zoos, shopping, and many more. Still I managed to squeeze time to write for the newspapers.

Life was very busy, I had to run on dot of the clock, a big rush.Especially after Nafees was born, my life became even busier. At the time of Nafees' birth Asif was 14 years old, Moumita was 16. Nafees was born prematurely and had to spend a long time in the hospital. Went through a few surgeries. When he came home, he needed a lot of medical care and attention. We were all so perplexed with this change in life. I started to work in the evenings, so I could be with Nafees during the home. I didn't realize it meant I was distancing myself from my two growingup kids. When they came home from school, I left for work. When I came home they were in bed. Weekends were even busier. Whatever time I found, I spent it after taking care of Nafees. We all lived under the same roof but we were in our own world. In a couple of years Asif started his high school. Moumita started her college. Then we moved back to New York. Moumita stayed in Dallas, Asif came with us. He went to high school in New York. But it was difficult for him to go to 3 different high schools. Now when I look back, I feel bad. Asif must have had a very difficult time in adjusting with all these kids in 2 different high schools in two entirely different settings. He went to Wallkill High School in Upstate NY for his 11th grade, which was entirely sub-urban, and Hillcrest High School in Jamaica, Queens for 12th grade, which was completely urban. He never complained.

My baby never said no to anything or any decision we made. He suffered inside but didn't let us know it. I wish I could change things, I wish I could make life easier and happier for him. I wish he had told me more about his feelings. I wish I had more time and peace of mind so I could spend more time with my children. Why life is so harsh to all of us? Why don't we cherish every moment that we are together? Why didn't I realize it before? Why did Asif have to leave so soon? Why? Why did I have to see Asif's lifeless body? At first I didn't want to see it. When the doctor told us in the family room what happened, everything came to a halt. I kept saying, "No, it can't happen. No, it's not true. It can't be true. No. No. No." The nurse asked me if I needed anything. I needed my son, my baby. She got me some water. I tried to control myself in front of them but as soon as they left the small room, I kept hitting the wall with my fists and head and screamed our loud. All I could say was, "No, No, No."

I don't remember anything else. Bachchu was crying. My cellphone was ringing. Calls were coming in. Bachchu was answering the phone, talking and crying. Moumita still wasn't there. When we called her we didn't know Asif actually left us. We were hoping he was clinging to his life, but never dreamt of this. After getting numerous messages on her voice mail, she called back to find out what happened. At first Bachchu didn't want to tell her about Asif's condition, but finally told her. There was nobody to comfort us. I felt so lonely. We were so lonely in our troublesome moment. I couldn't comfort Bachchu. Bachchu didn't have to comfort me. I was in disbelief. How could it be true? There must be some sort of mistake, misunderstanding. My baby left the house for work in the morning. We talked. I promised to make a few phone calls for him when he returned from work. We made plans for dinner the next day. We had so much to talk. We talked last night. We talked this morning. We were going to talk more tonight.

He was so full of life. Now how could he be gone just like that? I kept saying, "It's impossible, it can't be true, it can't be true. My baby!" When the doctor asked us if we wanted to see Asif, I shook my head vehemently, "No. No way." I didn't want to see him like that. Who knew how badly he was hurt! All I heard was a truck hit him. His heart stopped right there. When he was brought into the hospital, which was only less than 2 blocks away from the accident spot, the doctors couldn't find his heart beat. I didn't have the nerve to ask where did the truck hit him or how badly he was hurt. Where was he hurt?I could guess he was in a bad shape.

I thought of Adeeb. His mom is my Dolly phupu (aunty), but he was of same age as Asif. They went to same school, same class and was very friendly. Three years ago, Adeeb died in a car accident. Asif gave him his last bath. Adeeb's untimely death shook Asif very much, but that's a different story. At that moment, in the small closed family room at the emergency room of St. John's Hospital, all I could think was Adeeb's face was partially crushed. We could see only half of his face. God knows what condition was Asif in. I didn't want to see his mangled or disfigured face. I could see his handsome, smiling, and loving face. I wanted to cherish that picture, I didn't want to ruin that picture. I couldn't and wouldn't see his crushed body or face. I just couldn't face it. I don't remember if I cried or shed any tears. Were there tears pouring out of my eyes or was it fire? I don't remember anything. All I could remember is I was angry. Very angry. Why, why did it happen? How come the truck driver didn't see him? The doctor and nurse kept asking me if I wanted to see him, all I could say was, "No, No, No."
To be cont'd.....