Drowning in Grief

There's only one thing in the world I'm afraid of, losing my mother. The mere thought of losing her always gave me goosebumps, a shiver just ran down my spine. I’ve always been quite emotionally dependent on my mom, I simply cannot imagine a world without her. I never wanted to share my grief, I’ve heard it comes like a rhythm. I feel no rhythm in my grief from the death of my father when I was just 13, and now finding out my mother has lung cancer. I had always felt like I lived inside a bubble in which I see my reformed world. Outside the bubble is a world of clatter, inside is the stillness and a silent chime.

Something about hospitals made me shiver, was it because my mom was here? Maybe it's the freakishly white walls that engulfed me around every turn. Or maybe it was the fact it always smelt like disinfectants and plaster. No, it was how people looked at me.

I switched the television shows between Super Bowl and the Washington Post, “I think Islam hates us. There's something there. There's a tremendous hatred there,” argued Donald Trump as two politicians are in a heated race to win a critical election.

“Sorry to disturb you there sir, but I have some news for you. We cannot move any further until we receive the rest of our money, we will give you two more months, but you don't have that much time,” Dr. Pete said as he stared at me with suspicion as if he knew something.” umm here, give this to the lady at the front desk and she will give you all the information about the payment.” He handed me the yellow sheet of paper with big words that went over my head. Butterflies running around in my stomach, I walk up to the front desk.

“Hello sir, how may I help you?” the lady asked gently.

“Ummm, Dr. Pete gave me this yellow sheet and said that I should give it to you, so you can tell me the, umm the bill for the operation.” I rolled down my sleeve, stood up, and handed her the sheet.

“Oh okay, okay so tell me the patient's last name please,” she asked.

“ it's Ahmad” I replied as my voice got high-pitched with fear.

The lady handed me the paper, giving me an awkward glimpse, I had my eyes closed, and my heart was racing. I opened my left eye, as the right eye flipped the page and saw “SIX THOUSAND NINE HUNDRED AND SIXTY DOLLARS!” I leaned my head against the back of the chair I was sitting on. I closed my eyes and clenched my fists before sighing. I opened my eyes and walked out of the room.

When I got outside and felt the fresh airbrush up against my skin, I shivered. I decided to go in and get mom, I didn't know how I would tell her, I don't want her to get worried, isn't she already stressed enough?

I lifted my wrist to my eyes, to wipe the tears that seemed to hold me captive. Out of all people, it happened to me. I faked a smile and lifted my right sleeve for her. I slowly opened the car door for mom, feeling the overwhelming sadness.

“Beta what did Dr. Pete say? What's the payment going to be then?” she asked, smiling at me. I always loved when she called me that, it made me feel calm.

“Ummm, he didn't say anything, the lady downstairs did,” I replied, trying not to answer her question.

“Musa, okay tell me what she said,” she asked me again suspiciously

“Well, the lady said that the payments are going to be ummm $2,980” I lied, I didn't want to, but I had to, otherwise she would get worried.

Now back in our tattered flat, I took a deep breath, I got mother out of the car, and gently took her up the stairs, the environment in this building was really bad for mother, dust and pollution was everywhere. Neighbours gave you bad looks as if you did something really bad to them, but really it was because we were different, we were Muslim. I settled mom in her bedroom so she could rest a bit, and rushed myself into my bedroom. I motivated myself that I had to be strong for her, I had to think of ideas to get money so I can get mom diagnosed as soon as possible before it's too late. The only idea I thought was suitable was to do illegal labour near the Bazar. It was a big “house,” half stone, half sheet iron, facing a dirty courtyard containing a well, an old Toyota van, and a canopy of reeds.

It's been half an hour, and I was tired of pacing the room waiting for a plan. I had called Osama, I needed someone to talk to. We were going to meet in the back streets of the old, torn Masjid.

Now face to face, Osama and I started telling each other things, things we never told anyone else, well as far as I know. I began to tell my story to Osama

“Well we live in an old, rotten, council home, we only survive by the salary that I get from doing a part-time job 7 days a week,” I shrugged, “ After my dad died when I was 13, we lived with my grandmother, after three years my mom decided that she didn't want to be a burden on Grandma, especially because I was growing up and going into high school, so we moved to this flat, we didn't like it, but we didn't have any other choice.” I took a dramatic pause for 10 seconds straight. ”And now it turns out my mom has cancer, Osama tells me what to do, the doctor said that we have to give them money before they diagnose her with cancer.”

Tears continued to flow as my attention shifted back to Osama, a gasp erupted, “So how much do you need bro? I can probably help you” Osama offered as he patted on my back slightly.

“7, 960” I replied, touching the top of my pale, dry, rough hands.

“7,960, WHAT! Musa, where are you going to arrange that amount of money from?” pleaded Osama. With a reluctant sigh, I answered, “I don't know, I was thinking of getting a job, probably working at the carpet labour house.”

“Well I think I can arrange something quicker, are you in?” Osama grimes as he speaks “Look Musa you need money for your mother's chemotherapy, and I need money to pay someone back, and money can do so much! I mean you can get a big house, where there is no pollution or people who give you bad looks” Osama paused for a second then began to convince me again. “Musa, you don't trust me?” He cooed with a complicated sarcasm.

“Okay, Okay, what's the plan, will it get us in trouble?” I eagerly exclaimed.

“No, don’t you worry at all my boy, your work will be done safely, so the plan is to break into the bank near Jolly rancher, I'll pick you up from work, just call me when you're done, okay?” Osama said with a calm voice. “Okay, make sure everything goes well.”

It was 12:33 pm and I had been waiting for Osama for half an hour now. Before I could even land my finger on the second digit, I heard a horn, I knew Osama was here. I rushed into the car, locking the store up. We had been waiting outside the bank for 20 minutes, the security guard who worked there left at 12:40, he was our sign to go in.

As soon as the security guard left, we rushed to get out of the car. We were at the tips of the door, trying to open it when we heard a siren, figured it was the police. It got closer every time we tried to get the key in. My vision was slowly getting blurry as the siren got louder, I couldn’t even think straight. I could feel my body weakening as I fell to the ground. I knew my last breath would be soon. I should've known, bad things don’t bring good.