Our Silver Lining by Salam Sayagha

Our Silver Lining


   13th February, 2010 was the worst day of my life. I never imagined that this could happen to us; we, the calm, sweet family. Well, we weren’t living a lavish life, but still, it happened so fast in an unpredictable manner. My dad was a teacher in an elementary school and my mom, the vein of our lives, worked in a small provision shop in our village. There was my 11 year old little brother, and I the 13 years old quickly-growing girl. I can’t say we were materialistically rich, but at least we were happy and satisfied from within.  That February wasn’t like any other. I woke up to my mom being slightly pale, and heavily tired. She had always suffered from headaches, because of her neck pain, but I had a gut feeling it was more than just that.

   Upon checking with her doctor, he immediately asked for an MRI. The results were pretty gloomy. My mom had breast cancer that had spread over to the third vertebra of her neck, which melted because of the disease. Accordingly, she had to wear a hard collar of stokes all day and night, even when she was asleep or taking a bath. We moved to an apartment beside the hospital for she had to go on foot, because she was forbidden from moving in a car. She had her beautiful, long, raven hair cut to be ready for chemo sessions. Sometimes, John and I would accompany her, when we didn’t have school. She would hold our hands tightly while we watched her smile bravely and took her steady steps. Deep inside, we silently feared that she might be experiencing overwhelming pain when she had to take the poisonous Chemotherapy. We didn’t have the magical powers to help, but we attempted to remain strong and contributed to her strength. Nurses, thankfully, welcomed her cheerfully. They were surprised at her high spirits and radiant energy. Dr. Haddad told mom,” Pray, pray sincerely; pray that you may not urge a surgery”, since the surgery was risky and could leave her paralyzed.

   However, the third vertebra melted, and in March 2011, the doctors had no other choice. We stood in the National Hospital waiting anxiously. Five aching hours passed while our silence was screaming, reaching the seventh sky, in our hysterically fragile pumping hearts. Finally, our affliction came to a full stop. The doctor crossed the aisle swiftly, with his footsteps speeding towards us. He said joyfully,” the surgery was a success; we were able to fix her neck up till the skull.” A few days later, we went back home exultantly. Our queen rejoined her family, and together we were ready to defy the whole wide world! Or at least we thought… 

   Less than a year later its wicked claws attacked my mom’s right breast. Mom, the sweetest thing on planet Earth, disobeyed to show any fear. On the contrary, she was very peaceful. “My sweet children,” she assured, “God is the only One who can decide when our time comes.” We had a family meeting and her decision was, well, unnegotiable,” “We are going to enjoy every single precious moment of our life together,” mom stated. Dad connected a caravan to our dark- blue Mercedes car, and we decided to visit every village in our country: 1230 villages in an 80 days- journey. One of our bucket list was to collect souvenirs from each village we passed by. John and I had to tolerate 12 hours of driving sometimes. Strange is the power we have in such conditions. People around the villages welcomed us warmly and invited us to their houses. Sometimes, John and I would wait for mom to undergo her chemo, where dad would escort her to the nearest local hospital. She took around 250ml of morphine per day. Her face started to fade, and her body grew weaker…the only thing that remained constant was her bold smile.

   My parents’ anniversary was close. We were planning to celebrate in a big party with the family. Unfortunately, our gift was already waiting for us at the hospital. The doctor called dad to tell him that they had reached a dead end.  Cancer had reached her postmeningitic hydrocephalus. Yes, it had spread in her brain, and she barely had two weeks left on this planet. The doctors asked us to utter our last farewell. They even asked us to choose where to spend our final days with her. My mom’s answer was,” I want to travel with my family to Verna- a contest that our family won in a T.V program.” Dad stared, “Are you sure? Suppose the trip went downhill, what would we do then?” She peacefully said that nothing would happen. It was difficult for her, but a billion times more difficult for us. It was just that feeling, you know, that spiking feeling of regret that she could die with her final wish unfulfilled. So, we went. She spent most of her time in bed, while my brother and I swam in the hotel’s pool beside her room. She approached to the pool to play with us, but would instantly get tired and we’d have to take her back to rest. When the trip reached an end, we returned home, and guess what! A miracle by God’s name! The following year, mom and we were 3088m high on Everest, the highest mountain in the world! She sent her doctor a message saying,” I am alive, and stronger than ever.”

   During this period of five years, many friends of my parents passed away because they didn’t have enough money to pay for cancer medication. Mom and dad decided to create a nonprofit organization that aimed to offer medication for those who are unable to fight cancer financially. Mom, a cancer survivor, delivered her message to the nation through a television interview that was broadcasted on the local news, which asked the prime minster to sign the organizational documents while she was still on the path of life in order for her to witness the birth and success of this association. The minster agreed, and the association was officially established on the 5th of July, 2015.

     A day before her death, she had sent a video asking cancer patients not to be afraid of their sickness, and to challenge their physical structure so that they could live life to the maximum. Her words were, “What matters are the days that we live, not those we count.”

     Our angel left us; to a place with a one way trail. It was an icy January morning. Snow carpeted the nearby hills as well as our once warm hearts. Our close relatives and friends attended the mournful funeral to bid mom their last farewell. I kept glancing at John, who avoided making eye contact at all costs. My poor little boy swallowed his tears courageously. His cheeks flushed red and his lower lip quivered in torment; he refused to cry. He stated,” People don’t lament saints. My mom is a saint and I am so proud of her.”

   Looking back through the rear mirror on our lives, I realize just how lucky we were. How many times we reached the tip of the abyss and how many times our mom raised us upwards from the depths of her agony. She has implemented sublime seeds in us that we are proud to engulf needless of an outsider. It has become an innate grace that washes over us, resulting in nourishing our tree of ethics and putting an end to our eternal fear. What do humans fear the most? Isn’t death our daily nightmare? Weren’t most past legends centered on mortality and how we can defeat death? Weren’t people since the mere existence of Man searching for life’s Elixir? Didn’t Gilgamesh in the old Sumerian legend experience a journey to overcome death? Well, although our journey was different to his, we also had our battlefields; we were in a constant race with time; we had our struggles, and anguish. We tested frustration, and disappointments. We died in the inside hundreds of times before dreading when the worst would arrive. Waiting for the disaster to take place is worse than realistically confronting it. The great Mesopotamian hero found immortality by heroic deeds that secured his existence. We didn’t… We just learned to dare death. We aren’t to be scared of it anymore.

   Together we were able to generate memories that were carved in our deepest oceans, where sounds of laughter brightened the arid dry fields, tears of joy delivered serenity to our restless hearts, and relieving hugs carried the comfort of tender laps stirred with the narcissus smell of mothers. These countless memories are always vibrant and pulsing, ready to resurrect us at any breach of hopelessness.

   Two eyes, two ears, two lips, two nose pores, same face; but I am not the same person anymore.  Something has been broken forever to relish my rebirth.

   For thousands of times I mention how grateful I am, for there is no single “what if” in the dictionary of life. No number of thanks can ever sum up all the chances I appreciate God’s offerings to make every second worth living.

   Our loss! It is an unhealed scar… an everlasting guiding star… A burning lump in our sore throats… A smile that bolsters our grief… An extraordinary pain and a triumph in our records… It was a wild, merciless storm that plucked us out of our roots just to be planted in a better soil: to make us better versions of ourselves.

   My brother and I grew up before our time was due. The littlest of things had meanings we hadn’t imagined nor realized before.  We changed. We are much stronger. Our family bond has tightened. We witness people’s silly fights and think,” Come on guys, it’s not worth it.”
Our angel rested in peace, and so did our hearts. We learned a lot through this journey of suffering and sickness. Now we are active members in our mom’s association which aims to ensure medication for those who can’t afford it. We also provide medical and psychological support.  We have helped around 150 patients by supporting them financially, and more importantly, psychologically. We have initiated a new perspective for cancer patients based on our mom’s enlightening vision. There are more than 50 volunteers working with us today, and we have spread all over our country.

  I am now a psychiatrist and a counselor at a high school. John will start university next year. He wants to be a doctor. Our dad, the director of our association, is carrying our mom’s message all over the country and internationally where possible.

​   Our life hurricane was tough. Perhaps many had gone through a similar experience, but the way we encountered it because of our hero was special in a different way. Hardships mold us inside out and make us the people we dream to become. We started to appreciate things that were, in our ungrateful eyes, meaningless before. Our aim is to come across as much families to strengthen and refuse to break, just like ours.

   Today, on our mother’s second commemoration, in God’s will, we plan to initiate our free-of-charge village for cancer patients, where they can spend a day or two of family quality time, by doing activities that would enrich their days. If let it be the last they seize, may they be the first they remember.

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Bio: Nelson Mandela once stated, “Education is the most powerful weapon for changing the world”.  Being born in Lebanon where ensuring safety is an everyday target, I believe that education is our only savior. I am a fearless feminist, and with that being said, existing as a female equals being a second degree citizen, with limited rights to negotiate. So as I grew up, I decided to leave my print on this world and work towards a society of equality. A little seed was planted in my soul to bud later as a deep desire for a blossoming education. Time helped me excel, and later I realized that reaching a step away from my PhD degree meant that I was fulfilling my purpose here.

I am proudly a full-time High School teacher at a school my roots belonged to, a part-time university instructor, and blessed to be a mother of two. This makes me the caregiver of my little family of four, which is easy to put into words, yet hectic to live! To my luck, reading is my escape from reality. There, I transfer to a vivid world with all its calmness and crowdedness, happiness and sadness that only real life urges’ could disconnect me from.
  
Successful stories create hope; reading others’ hardships reduces our struggles; thinking outside the box downsizes mountains of frustration. So, alongside my formal education, I aim to create a sense of unity through the power of words: a world where stories represent a temporary paradise.

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