We can’t always find what we lose

Dear Mama,

I lost your ruby red earrings before you died. I know, I know. You always said I was too clumsy to wear your jewelry, but I couldn’t help myself. It was something about the hold of them, the way I always found every excuse to be closer to you. It was also just the fact that they were bright red and calling to me. I wanted to wear something that stood out, and they were right there.

The first time I wore them, I went clubbing with my friends. Before you get mad that your muslim daughter went out to the bars, imagine this: my friends were drinking away, while I simply danced. Imagine this: I was taking up all the space I possibly could. I promise that’s all it was. For a moment, I almost felt like I was a younger version of you. Dancing in the fields of Pakistan in a bright pink sari. Did you dance much as a teenager? I forgot to ask you the important questions when you were here.

Anyways, after I lost them, I scrubbed my hands for hours, as if I could wipe away the sins of what I had done. I did the same when you passed away. Perhaps, somehow, I could clean the memory off of me. I could shower, scrub my skin with stones, go to bed and wake up the next morning with you alive again. I’m sorry I never went to your funeral. I never saw you wrapped in dirt, but still, I have images of myself with a shovel griped in my hand, ready to dig you out. It’s hard for me to clean those images out of my system. I still see you laying there, waiting for me.

I suppose we all grow in and out of our regrets. Some of our regrets are easy to overcome. You regret never learning to swim? Let’s hop into the car and take you to a lesson now. Some regrets are still attainable, still have the chance to come alive again. But my regret is out of my control. I regret not taking up all the time I had with you. If I could go back, I would have never stolen those earrings out of your purse. I would have treasured every piece of you, as if it could all fade away in a second, because I’ve realized, it really can all simply disappear. Now, I search and search and search for you. I try to find your old pieces of clothing, try to see if I can find a picture of you as an innocent child. I dig through old boxes and search for your handwriting. I guess all I’m really trying to say is that I know I was never the best daughter. Maybe that wasn’t always my fault. I was a teenage after all, but that doesn’t change my regret. I was ditsy, always running around and trying to find the next light to shine on myself. But while you’ve been gone, I’ve learned a lot. I’ve been keeping everything tidy in case you enter the door again. I’ve taught myself how to polish every detail of the house, ensuring nothing will ever be out of place. On the table, everything is waiting with a new pair of fresh ruby red earrings. I promise I won’t wear them this time around, and I especially promise not to lose them. So, Mama, if you’re watching, do you still see me trying to hold onto every piece of you? If I lose something again, will you help me find it? Will you help me find whats left of you?