Teaching my mother how to give birth

Mama, on the first line of this blog I will write: "Your body has carried you through moments so bitter, all Gods kneeled facing your resilience, on days where your heart was too heavy to endure one more beat, you stood up and survived". Now I can properly write about you;

Mama was raised in a hard up family, her father was alcoholic, he died when she was 7.Her mother then passed away due to a heart attack when she was 12. 

Coming from family of four sisters and two brothers, she left home at age 8 and worked at Al Dirani's residence in Achrafieh to make money. Of course none of that money was ever hers, her mother took it in order to provide for the rest of the kids. 

Mama never had a home, she found shelter in people's houses where she worked and in return they would offer her a place to stay. She got married to my father at age 21, thinking that a man would save her from her life, but never had kids until 32, because my father killed the "Inner child" in him, in addition to the fact that he was fighting a civil war that left him so drained, even his sperms weren't functioning anymore.

Today I sat down with her, I deeply wanted to ask my mother what are some of the good memories she can recollect as a kid. I have never heard my mum utter one beautiful memory from her childhood, and I wanted her to birth triumph from these tragic encounters she faced. 

-"Mama what are some memories you celebrate in your heart from your childhood? Those moments you want to keep alive along the way?".

While she expressed these anamneses, her face lit up, she smiled to the point where her cheeks hid her eyes, I could sense the amount of healing that will birth inside her after this trip down memory lane.

-"I remember going to church with my father on Sundays, even though he was always drunk... I also remember wearing white shorts one Sunday and a blue jeans another. I used to love the holidays because we used to wear new clothes. Another memory I have was when my parents got me brand new shoes, they were black but didn't fit my size, I wore them anyway. I was so happy because these were my first non thrifted shoes I ever owned".

Both our eyes were filled with emotions, a bittersweet moment stuck between all the shame my mother bears from her past and the braveness she birthed threw it all. 

And on the last line of this blog I will write: Bless the daughters who sat carrying the trauma of their parents, who thirsted for more love but didn't get any, those who, despite the ashes, carried themselves to light.