The First Cup

The first cup of tea has very little sugar and little if any mint added to it. It is said to be bitter like death...

I can honestly say I wasn't bitter about the situation until Christmas day 2007. I was sad, upset, and distraught; bitterness didn't come till that day. I had moved past the present aspect of the holiday, but when she couldn't even watch my brothers open their presents that morning because of the discomfort and pain the anger and bitterness set in. I'm glad to learn that I wasn't the only naive one, she seemed like she was getting better. Her hair was growing back and her energy increased substantially. Maybe it had already progressed too far; maybe she was exposed to some pathogen during her plane flight with me (I still wonder if it was ultately my vanity that killed her); or maybe it was all the social interactions of the holiday. Nevertheless, I could feel the rage and anger building in me as she laid with an IV drip on the couch that night.

The phone rings, I curse myself for my medical knowledge I had gained in college, end phone conversation, sit let anger and bitterness build, through plastic cup against the wall with enough force to break it, ignore Will's question as I walk out the door, walk of the deco and down the stairs, look at the gate, let fist meet the gate, assess the damage on the hand, shrug, sit down on the stoop, sob...

I can say I was namely bitter at God and myself. I should have been there that final year. I was mad at God for putting her through that pain. I was made at him for making my brothers into men at such a young age, I am so proud of them for taking up that torch. I was angry that he took away the love of my dad's life. I can also say bitterness switched to my dad as he moved on, while I remained in the infant stages of what the psychological world calls "the stages of mourning". Dad I want you to know I am so happy for you now though. When she died I lost a large portion of my being, and in turn anger and bitterness were born and fed by those last memories of her. Dad, Seth, and E I'm sorry you had to put up with me for the last two years and the way I was...

In her death though she still teaches me. She didn't have the bitter taste of that first cup in her soul when she passed. She was able to savor the taste of the last two cups before finality struck. It is that fact alone why I finally can get the disdain and map taste out of my mouth and move onto the next two cups as well.

Today was a rough day of work. At this daara, I had a kid that had been hit by a car and received a tibial fracture. His anterior chamber was extremely swollen. However, we did not have the means to do anything for him, and because he was a talibe he would just slip through the cracks I'm sure. So we had to leave without helping him in anyway. That boy still ways heavy on my heart.

On a MUCH lighter note, I'm fairly sure my mom here thinks I lack hand mouth coordination. This is nely because at dinner the plate is always farthest from me and I sit with my back to the light source. Needless to say I get offered a spoon when everyone else eats with a fork.

Song of the Moment: Up Above - Cyne

PS: I already wrote this post once and it got erased. Although I have to say the first draft was better, I'm glad I pushed myself to go through it again. It all needed to be written out, more for my own personal reasons than anything else...I did experience something else interesting today. I'm sure the same feeling would befall a young Muslim man if he heard a Catholic choir boy singing a hymn; but today at the same daara I was completely captivated by a young talibe chanting the Koran in Arabic. My words wouldn't be able to describe the beauty and otherworldliness of hearing that...