Dr Harris spent hours counselling Feriyal. “If you take her home, she will need constant care. I can’t say for how long. Will you be able to cope? Can you afford the services of a caregiver?” He wanted her to see the real picture. What it would be like for her to care for a cancer stricken woman. “Let’s run further tests in the morning just to see if there’s any change. You can decide then.”
“She’s my mother. She is all I have. I’ll have to find a way to manage. There’s no other way.” Feriyal’s mind was made up. A mother took care of a baby who became an adult. When the roles were reversed, the adult child cared for the frail mother. That was the cycle of human life. That was how it should be for everyone, Feriyal thought.
“I’ll pray for her. And you. I watched you both in the ward. That touched me. Young people often take their parents for granted. It was nice to see you treat your mother with love and respect.”
She had no words to offer the doctor. She thanked him for his kindness and agreed to wait for the blood results in the morning. If there was no change in the blast cells, she would take her mother back home. To the flat cramped with memories. They parted ways. He went home to his family. She returned to her mother’s bedside.
***
The next morning, the results showed there was a change in the blast cells. Not the change Feriyal hoped to see. The results showed a higher percentage of cancerous cells invading her mother’s body, eating her health away bit by bit, cell by cell and organ by organ. It was time to leave the hospital. For the final resting place.
“We’re going home, Ma. Just like you asked. Close your eyes and rest now. I’ll go complete the paperwork for your discharge. Then I’ll help you dress.” She left the ward feeling defeated.
The administrative details were finished in a flash. Next, it was time to decide how they were travelling back home. Feriyal knew her mother was not strong enough to walk, let alone wait at the bus shelter. She was too weak to board another bus. Disorientated too. Life was becoming a burden. Heaven’s beautiful angels were taking too long. Too long to take her mother home. Her final home where the pain ceased. She dialled a few numbers. A neighbour offered to fetch them from the hospital. One less thing to worry about.
“Okay, Ma. I collected your medication, so we don’t have to stop at the dispensary. I’ll pack your bag. Uncle Ebrahim is on his way to fetch us.”
“I hope that doesn’t inconvenience him. May the Almighty grant him a long and rewarding life for his kindness.”
A suffering woman worrying she was becoming a burden to people. Whether or not it was an inconvenience should have been the last thing on her mind, but a good woman worried all the time.
Uncle Ebrahim met them in the ward. He looked away to hide the sorrow in his eyes. He was shocked to see how drained the old woman appeared. He greeted them and kissed mother and daughter before taking the bag. He walked ahead, leading them to his rusty Volkswagen. A sister wheeled the mother out of the hospital for the last time. Feriyal followed. She had tried to hide her mother’s illness from the neighbours.
She had told everyone it was just routine tests, but now; the truth had to come out. Ma was in the final stages of cancer.
“Wait. Let me take one last look.” Riddled with pain, she still wanted to admire the beauty of life. The sister held the wheelchair firm, then swung it around. “I won’t see this place again. The beach looks so beautiful today. If only I took the time to experience all these treasures.” She sniffed the sea breeze, closing her eyes to savour the moment. “These fishermen on the pier make all this complete. Everyone looks so happy. Even the dogs. May they all be blessed with rewarding lives.” Her hands trembled on her lap. The midday breeze was blowing cold on her skin.
“Let’s go home now.” Nobody talked in the car. What was there to say? The forty-minute drive to Phoenix was awkward. Words were lost. It was a difficult and painful journey. Home for the last time. The last ride tinged with sorrow.
***
“Feels like heaven to lie in my own bed.” She tried to make herself comfortable, but the pain on her face told a different story. “I’m so pleased to be back. Thank you for bringing me home, Feri.” She caught her daughter’s gaze. “You don’t have to babysit me. I’ll probably be asleep most of the time.”
“I’ll not leave you, Ma. Whatever you need, I’m here. Don’t be afraidto tell me what you’re feeling. You are all I have.” She planted a kiss on her forehead and left the room to prepare supper.
Deep breathing and wet coughs came and went. Her face creased with pain. The bedsheets ‘crissed’ and ‘crossed’, hiding the body that throbbed.
When night fell, supper was done. Feriyal carried a tray to the bedroom. The old woman’s hands fell limp. Not enough strength to hold a spoon. Too drained to break a piece of bread.
What have I signed up for, a frightened Feriyal wondered. With enough on her plate already, she was not prepared for this too. Caring for someone all on her own. However, what other choice was there? She spooned lamb stew into her mother’s quivering mouth and wiped the corners with a dish towel. Six spoons were enough. It was an effort to swallow. The medication was next. Pills felt like stones going down the throat, flushed with gulps of tap water.
Feriyal was too tired to eat now. She had seen enough. Hunger deserted her. The lights were switched off. Too rundown to face another episode of frustration. Sleep wrapped its arms around her. She floated on a puff of clouds. Deeper and deeper. Red, strained eyes were resting.
At last. Thirty minutes. One hour. How long was it now?
A loud belch shook Feriyal out of her calm place. “Ma. Is that you, Ma? What’s wrong?” She raced to her mother’s room, turned on the light and scanned the room. The bed was empty. Just the smell of vomit.
She heard the sound again… and again. Then she saw her. Kneeling.
Hugging the toilet bowl. Throwing up what had gone down for supper. Helpless. Like a rag doll discarded by a child. She was of no use anymore.
“Couldn’t help it. I threw up in bed before I could get here. Sorry it woke you. Go back to sleep. I’ll clean the mess up.”
“Why didn’t you just call me? I would have helped. Look at the mess you’ve created. Now the room smells. How did you get here anyway?”
Feriyal wanted to die. She realised then she was shouting at her mother.
Frustrated, tired and irritable.
“I called you. You didn’t come. I knew you were tired. I saw it in your eyes when you fed me. I knew you were fast asleep. There was no choice. I rolled out of bed. Dragged myself on the floor.” The old woman looked like a scared beggar, afraid her daughter was going to reprimand her for the mess. “I’m sorry. You have the right to be upset with me. I’m like a little child again. I’ve gone from a mother who loved you to a burden. You don’t deserve this in your life.”
A flood of tears washed down her cheeks. She brushed them away and took a deep breath. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to shout. You’ll sleep in my bed tonight.” She held the frail woman in her arms and rocked her back and forth. “I’m sorry, Ma. I don’t know how to handle this. I’m scared
I might not be enough for you.”
Too shocked to respond, her mother eased into the fresh and warm bed. Her daughter’s bed. Next to the soiled one. Humiliated and broken.
A child should not care for her. Not have to clean up after her. That was not the way.
Sleep escaped from Feriyal’s eyes. It vanished into the darkness of night. There was no desire to rest anymore. She returned to the smelling room, changed the sheets, washed the wet patch on the bed and lit an orange-blossom scented candle to drown the odour. A candle from the gift set Anne had given her to create warm feelings in the home. It was midnight, but the washing had to be done. How could she put it off? How could she sleep through the retched stink?
She wanted fresh linen in the house, not the ones smelling of vomit.
That first night back home from the hospital was difficult. Things became w
orse with each boundless night. It changed between painful cries and faeces-stained sheets, moments of weakness and more vomit. Those nights turned into days. Turned into weeks. Two weeks. It was edging closer to the time. A time nobody wanted to discuss. A time they both knew was coming. The end of time. Would a sense of relief wash over her when her mother passed?
CHAPTER TEN
Soft grey hair fell in clumps. The after effects of the chemotherapy. The one that didn’t help her. Time lost its head. It didn’t fly fast. It dragged on. Too long.
Relatives from Cape Town called to ask about her mother’s health. The news she gave was bad. It only became worse the next time they called. Some wanted to stay with them and take care of the frail woman.
Feriyal declined. How could she be comfortable with someone she didn’t know well enough? She knew them by name, not as members of her family. Ma was the only one for her.
The nights were most difficult. Her mother coughed. She asked for thicker blankets. Her body was cold like cubes of ice. Her chest rattled.
Finally, she contracted pneumonia. This was expected.
The serial killer assignment was stressing her out too. She studied the documents. Bodies were piling up. It now stood at fifteen. She worked out a plan and called Shane to discuss the progress. She also told him her mother was slipping away. He wanted to be with her. She refused point blank. Lost in her little world, she was pushing everyone away. Even Anne, her other mother figure. A friend and confidante too.
***
One morning, the first signs of spring came. Something changed. It was almost seven weeks after Feriyal had lost her job. The coughing stopped; the heaving chest was now still. Who would have thought the change of season could remove the suffering?
“It’s another day, Ma. It’ll be easier today. You’ll see.” There was no answer. “Maybe we should go out in the sun. The fresh air will do you some good.” She stretched out her hand and drew back the curtains.
Golden rays rushed in and dust particles danced in the light. “Time to awake, Ma.” She tried to rock her mother back from the foetal position, but it was no use. “Ma! Open your eyes. Please open your eyes.” It was too late. She folded down and dropped her head on the cold chest. How she wished she could hear a heartbeat. Just one more time.
Feriyal felt for a pulse. Nothing. Not even a slow, laboured beat. She knew. Her world collapsed. Fine bumps formed on her arms and her hair stood on end. She knew, but she did not want to accept.
Life continued for some. Birds chirped. Bees went about their sweet business. It stopped for one. One heart stopped beating. The sick mother who took her last breath. It must have been sometime during the hollow night. The suffering was over. Feriyal’s suffering was growing more intense. She had not said goodbye. That hurt more than anything. The woman who had nursed her, cradled her and protected her in a cruel world was gone. Forever.
She slept in the same flat, but her mother had died alone. She had not been at her bedside. Had not held her hand. Had not watched as life slipped out of her. At this time, she felt like a coward. How could she think her mother was becoming a burden when she soiled the sheets?
When her vomit decorated the floors like a splash paint artwork. Enough about that now. There were more pressing things to work through. How was she going to bury her mother? There were no savings she could tap into. No funeral policy. Nothing. Maybe Shane could help. How embarrassing it would be to ask him! No. There must be some other way.
The neighbours were informed one by one. They took charge and started the preparations. A small group rallied around. They secured the grave, a death certificate, several metres of calico to shroud the body and a moulana to conduct the final prayers. The beauty of living in a closeknit Indian community. Feriyal was humiliated that neighbours paid for the funeral. She was grateful too.
***
Men cleared furniture from the lounge. There wasn’t much. A TV, a Tempest radio, two sofas and a chair. They were creating space for the mourners. A special place in the middle for the old woman’s body.
Incense and frankincense perfumed the flat. The smell of sadness was there too. The mood was sombre. Silent tears. Women and children recited scriptures from the holy Quran. There were others who counted the number of prayers they said on rosary-like beads. Then. The humming stopped. Their focus zeroed in on one person.
Feriyal appeared like a ghost, her petite frame covered in a black silk abaya. Black. The colour for mourning. Her head covered like a pukkah Muslim woman. No make-up.
Just bloodshot eyes. She sat among them.
To mourn her mother. To remember her.
Grey-haired women could not bear to meet the gaze of the orphaned girl. Heads were bowed. Tears flowed. Voices prayed louder. It sounded like bees humming. Then the silence of death came. The body devoid of life had arrived. In a green hearse. In life, she travelled by bus. Now, in death, she came home in a different mode.
As a sign of respect, Feriyal rose to honour her dead mother. She was a brave woman for a split second. The energy she had stored in her was used up. Her tears became sobs. Two neighbours held her solid. “It was you and me against this cruel world, Ma. You promised to be there for me, but you left without saying goodbye.”
The elders tried to hush her. “Keep praying for her to reach Jannah.
Crying and talking like this is not going to help her journey.”
She did not care what anyone said. “What do I do now? I watched you suffer. I knew I had to let you leave me. But how do I continue? How do I live without you?” Like a mad woman, she talked to her dead mother, lying in the middle of the lounge… waiting for a response that would never be given, but still she waited.
Someone wanted to take her to the bedroom. They wanted to call a doctor. To sedate her. No! She refused. Her mother needed her. Both in life and in death.
“I want to recite the Quran. The least I can do for my mother.”
Someone handed her the prayer book. “Bismillah i rahman irahim.” The words ran amok on the page. She tried to restrain them with her eyes. They raced around like strikes of lightning. The mourners continued. Nobody noticed her confusion. Did anyone care? She closed the bookand prayed in her heart.
The call to prayer came. Everyone heard it. It was time for the midday supplication. Time to take the body to the mosque. To say the final prayer before her mother was lowered in the ground. Six men arrived.
They lifted the draped body and placed it in a steel case, then raised it to rest on their shoulders. Everyone was on their feet asking God to have mercy on the dead. To give the old woman a safe passage home.
Feriyal placed her palms on the embroidered sheet covering the case. “Ma. I’m setting you free. Free from the pain. Free from worry and suffering. I didn’t say goodbye to you. I’m sorry for that. Take care of yourself. I love you. Peace be upon you.” She kissed her palms and placed them on the mat, like she was kissing her mother. For the last time that day. Forever.
Men walked behind the hearse as it travelled to the local mosque a few hundred metres from the flat. A final journey to conduct the lastrites before leaving for the cemetery. The women and children stayed behind.
***
Relatives slept over in the flat that night. They had to watch over the young daughter.
Feriyal left them chatting in the kitchen. It sounded like warawarawara. An alien language she didn’t understand. It irritated her. She went to bed. Familiar sounds were missing that night. No more coughing. No more heavy breathing. She dreamt of her mother.
Why did she have to leave? Why couldn’t she fight to stay?
***
The call to morning prayer blew out from a speaker. It shook her out of her slumber. She tiptoed to her mother’s bedroom. Her late mother.
She saw her tucked under the covers. Lying on her side in a foetal position.
“I knew you’d come back, Ma. Yesterday was just a bad dream.” She lifted the cover to slip in and feel the warmth
of her body.
“Aunty Zainub! What are you doing in my mother’s bed? How dare you take her place?” Feriyal was in denial and everyone saw it that morning.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Feri. We stayed over last night. Remember? I went to sleep in my sister’s bed. Didn’t think about yourfeelings. I wanted to feel close to her. I didn’t say goodbye, Feri. She was your mother, but she was my sister. I miss her too. Forgive me if I overstepped the line.”
“My mother was the one who called me Feri. Please don’t use that name again. It was her special name for me.”
The visitors mourned the passing of the cancer-stricken woman, but Feriyal believed they added to the emptiness after death. How could they understand what it was like? It had been just mother and daughter. They hadn’t needed help from the extended family. Why now?
Her late mother’s relatives chose to remain quiet. They felt a tinge of sadness for the young woman, separated from the only person she loved. They didn’t want to infringe on Feriyal’s misery, but felt bound by duty to conduct certain rituals after death.
The discomfort eased up in the day. Everyone living under that roof took Feriyal’s pain and restlessness into consideration. It was difficult, but they coped. Seven days passed. The flat was too small. There were queues for the single bathroom. Some took forever in the toilet. Then the time came for the visitors to return to their own lives.
Aunty Zainub was the first to break the news. “I stayed here in my sister’s house because it felt right. I know she wanted me to care for you. Now I have to go to my own family. Why don’t you come live with us in Cape Town?”
Feriyal was relieved, but she wanted to respect her mother’s memory.
“Thank you for everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you. Your offer for me to join you is tempting, but I can’t leave this place. My mother and I built a life here. I just can’t throw it away.”
Feriyal could never imagine herself living with her aunt. She declined the offer, saying she would feel like she was deserting her mother.
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