When Baba Began to Fade Away, Mama Stepped Up to Shine Brightly!

By

Maryam Faisal – Freelance Writer

Not long time ago, my Baba was the strongest person I knew.

He was vibrant, always on the go, energetic and full of zest. He was very good at his work, confident in carrying a heavy load of responsibility, and injecting life and warmth into our home. As far as I and my siblings are concerned, he was not just our father, but also a source of assurance, guidance and strength.

And then, little by little… one day, the situation changed.

Initially, they were minor details such as a forgotten name, repeated questions, moments we simply ignored, etc. However, gradually, these instances became more frequent and severe. Where there was once clarity, there arose confusion. Where once we had effortless conversations, silence became a constant companion. And then one day, his diagnosis, a simple one letter word, swiftly changed our lives: ‘Dementia.’

Baba didn’t disappear in a moment. We saw him lose himself piece by piece… every single day.

With his vision gone, baba now tries to find us through our voices. When we speak, I see him searching, trying hard to connect the sound to a face, or probably to a flickering memory.

Sometimes he recognizes us. There’s a small moment where it feels like he knows us. And before I can hold onto it, it fades away. Sometimes he can’t place us at all. When that happens, I feel that a part of me dies.

Seeing my father lose his independence has been one of the most heart-breaking experiences of my life. The same man who used to carry the weight of the whole family with such dignity, now has to be physically assisted in standing up, reminded of his surroundings, and even handled by others as if he were a child.

Yet amid this slow and painful loss, I was rewarded by something special.

As Baba very gradually withdrew from life, without hesitation, almost naturally, Mama moved forward. It seemed as though our Rabb (swt) had assigned this to her, and she accepted it with absolute competence and deliberate character.

In fact not just accepted the new reality but performed her role with Ihsaan (beautiful excellence). I often wonder what kind of conversations she holds with her own Nafs (self/soul)?

She could say: “Why do I have to keep doing this?” “I need a break too, don’t I?”

After all, she is far more than a caregiver. She is a woman juggling with so many different emotions simultaneously. Fear of losing Baba, missing the companion she had in him, burdened because of the responsibility now she has to bare, no social engagement of her own, and of course her own ailing health issues.

Yet, she carries on with a smile on her face. No complaints. No grudges. No sacrifice is visible to anyone. Not even me, my sister or brother.

Instead I can almost feel a silent romance between Baba and Mama. Not the kind that the world recognizes, not loud nor expressive. But something far deeper. In the way she adjusts his pillow. In the way she answers his repeated questions with the same tenderness. In the way she feeds him, helps him, remembers little things for him. Always trying to make Baba happy.

It is love that no longer requires words. It is love that has crossed the boundaries of past memories. And as I observe this, I can’t help but ponder the present world we live in.

Mama never demanded: “What do I get in return?” A title? Any recognition? Some validation?

Mama never complained that her marriage felt like a burden. That the mere thought of caring for and being responsible for another human being 24/7, overwhelmed her.

I never heard her say “You only live once!” (YOLO) so live for yourself. Do what makes you happy. Don’t compromise. Don’t adjust.

Maybe because Mama remembers Allah’s (swt) creation plan. Our relationships are a test from Allah (swt). Every situation is not meant to be easy. Nor everyone is meant to serve us. Sometimes, we are meant to serve them.

A wife’s service to her husband, or caring for his parents, is not considered degrading or something imposed.

Maybe she understood what most of us miss out. If Allah (swt) brings you to a situation, He humbles you through it and then grants you the Tawfeeq to do good amidst it. It is not a burden. On the contrary it’s a privilege. Because the reward for that patience, that service, that sacrifice, will be solely yours.

So I see a strong woman in Mama, who was given by her Rabb a role, that she graciously accepted. I see a woman who is not concerned with “What about me?” but, rather, goes on living a life of silent sacrifice. I see a woman who realizes that love is not always about being seen, it is about showing up, every single day, even when it is really hard. This is pure Tawakkul (Trust in Allah swt).

And I pray and hope that I inherit some qualities from her Bi izn Allah.

As time slips away, I am slowly letting go of my father. That hurt is there, it lives in me day in and day out. But through this experience, I have been given a chance to see the beauty of something very novel.

A love that does not fade with memory. Patience that does not crumble under pressure. Faith that does not doubt when tested.

Dementia is erasing my Baba’s memory, however, it is also bringing to light the strength of my Mama’s soul.

And for that, I will always be grateful. Alhamdullillah!