“ You who are mother unto me ,” said Edgar Allan Poe I have read the writings of Wendell Berry and that of Maya Angelou I want to tell you that my mom gave her life for me .
Mom by TIMIR BANERJEE , MD
She had already felt a kick one afternoon .
I grew inside her for six more months As my mom continued to get weaker . She often held a tilted mirror to her face So that I could see clearer from inside her .
Loving the living is a different emotion That is aroused by playing a different string than the one for loving the dead One has to play the A and E string in the mind ’ s head With the eyes closed and the violin close to the chin instead . “ Requiem for my mother ” by Rebecca Dale is closest to what I might have said .
I don ’ t recall ever seeing my mom But by listening to others I know that my mom had died for me . She didn ’ t live long enough for my speaking abilities to have developed Thus she never heard from me , “ Mom I love you .” But she told me that she loved me when I was inside her and by giving birth to me .
It was a hot July evening When a cold fever had come upon her Soon she had a bit of a tummy ache Not an uncommon thing in a pregnant woman . They said that she had become progressively weaker and rather pale and withdrawn Her tummy grew bigger As time went by her Someone examined her and told her that she had tubercular peritonitis She should get an abortion to save her life .
They said that she sat in front of a window in her room She kept looking at the cows and the goats and the fawns that grazed in our pasture Tears ran down like a flowing river At times she just gazed but didn ’ t see Heavy thoughts in her mind blocked the scene that was in front Or to make choices that were easy She thought she was trying to see through a bloodstained veil seeped in emollient . But she knew that she could see into her inside clearly like in Isaiah 49:1 . Where two innocent cells that had multiplied to be a child , a human .
24 LOUISVILLE MEDICINE
The doctor had said that there was no Streptomycin or Rifampin at that time In a poor country In the turmoil of being occupied by a foreign power Our family was gathering people together Fighting for independence In a surreptitious manner . They said she wept but didn ’ t whimper She wanted me to know only her simper I moved whenever I heard the cantata of my mother ’ s amor .
She sang the song of love The song that Draupadi sang in her peril When she had asked Lord Krishna to shield her from the humiliation of men The Song of love with Katherine Hepburn wasn ’ t released till nineteen forty seven .
She wanted me to hear her voice in music and in song As I quickened inside her bellybutton She rubbed her tears on her stomach For me to feel the salt of the earth For me to understand the beauty of life And for me to be energized As she imbibed in me her strength The consumption slowly depleted hers . Making her life reach the Hayflick limit
Soon after giving birth she had died They said she had held me And had gifted me to the Gods for my protection and adoration She had said that she would always be with me as I would grow up to be a man May be someday I would learn to love As my mom had loved me
By making me born !
Dr . Banerjee is a clinical professor of neurosurgery at the University of Louisville .