Tears of Joy
Last night Hanife told me how
she had related to her friends a telephone conversation she and I had had
earlier that day. She said that, upon hearing the story her friends accepted me
as a dervish like them (albeit a spiritual
interpretation rather than literal one).
And the story? First, allow me
to tell you about my mother.
Lisbeth discovered in her teens
that she had a terribly cruel disease called SLE (lupus). As
if that wasn’t enough she also lost her biggest fan around the same time – her
father.
Her life after that took many
different forms each with it’s own trials and tribulations. And make no mistake
– the prevailing theme was one of struggle.
To give you some idea of how
‘unlucky’ she was to have lupus:
No. per 100,000 people USA (est.)
|
Heart
disease
|
8000
|
Epilepsy
|
900
|
Multiple
sclerosis
|
30
|
Lupus
|
3
|
I recall one of the many times we had to go to
hospital when her shoulder had become dislocated. You may have seen this happen
to sports professionals on the television. I myself saw a specialist sports
physiotherapist deal with it there and then by forcefully manipulating the dislocated
joint back into place.
In my mother’s case she was in excruciating pain
and wished only for the same quick remedy. Unfortunately the doctor in charge
wanted to prod and poke and inspect her rather than listen to her knowledgeable
request (this wasn’t the first time it had happened).
It was a common situation. You can understand the
doctor’s predicament – if he doesn’t check thoroughly and something goes wrong
he’s potentially in a lot of trouble.
On the other hand if he doesn’t listen then the
patient, who has years of experience with their illness and knows it far better
than any physician, may needlessly suffer.
Her illness, particularly in the beginning, was a
hidden one. Unlike a broken leg, which everyone can see, her predicament wasn’t
obvious to the casual observer. And therefore she might not be afforded the
courtesies that we naturally give to the ill or injured.
In this regard my own illness is the same.
Although it sometimes has referred physical symptoms it’s primarily a mental
one. So I went through my youth being chastised by people for my behaviour with
no empathy or compassion. I was frequently criticised for being: lazy,
thoughtless, and selfish. As well as this, I was constantly told that I was
under-performing in every area.
It was a very solitary existence with my only
solace being regular visits to my beloved grandmother.
Something that I’ll never forget from that visit
to the hospital was mum’s state of mind. All who knew her knew her to be a
strong woman with incredible resilience.
Whilst these days someone diagnosed with lupus
has an reasonable chance of having a normal lifespan, in my mothers time one
was expected to die young. In the face of overwhelming odds then she made it
past her 60th birthday. So it’s fair to say she didn’t have an
insignificant amount of grit. And for those that knew her well, this was what
she was most known for.
You can imagine my surprise then when she
uttered, “Why me?!” in the hospital. It was the first sign that her super-tenacity
was deserting her.
Like her I couldn’t understand why I had this
problem. In fact I wasn’t aware of it for the first 25-odd years. I simply
suffered.
I left New Zealand in an attempt to leave the
unhappiness and despair behind me. As mental health experts will tell you this isn’t
a plausible solution. Whilst the problem does reside in a place it’s not one
relating to terra-firma. It resides in the mind and therefore follows you
wherever you go. Think of it as an unwanted travelling companion.
So after a long period in self-made exile I returned
to my country of birth only to discover that I didn’t feel at home there - just
like I didn’t feel at home anywhere else.
On top of this everything seemed to be conspiring
against me. Relationships were trying at best. I quit my job due to being
overburdened with stress and couldn’t find a new one. I was bored, unhappy, and
lacked motivation, although, thanks to a course I attended I did manage to bury
the blaming of my parents and I started to become thankful of some blessings – in
particular two long term friendships.
The events leading up to my leaving ‘home’ for
the second time gave me plenty of time to consider what I was letting myself in
for. Let’s face it – very few leave ‘paradise’ of their own volition.
A new country, a new language, no job, no home,
no friends. Zero. As I write this now it sounds like complete lunacy. What
could I have been thinking?
Nevertheless I had a clear idea in my mind that I
was ‘going to Siberia to learn how to deal with cold weather’. I was sick of
feeling a victim of my own mind. Furthermore I thought that it had to be better
than where I was.
Naturally there have been ups and downs in Turkey
too, but with a difference.
Whilst during my stay in New Zealand I felt
certain that no-one cared (including an all powerful one), over here a contrary
pattern has emerged.
After each ‘bad’ event there’s been a positive
one that’s come in an equal or larger proportion to the negative one. I was
fired from one company only to find a better one. My income dropped
dramatically such that I was on minimum wage (read: impossible to survive) and
then I found employers who paid more than my current ones. I left one
relationship only to find a better one.
Time and time again I feel I’ve done the ‘right
thing’ and subsequently felt that I’ve been rewarded for doing so. I don’t
recall ever having had this experience elsewhere.
Of course the main reason is a fundamental and
fundamentally internal revolution and isn’t tied to a country per se.
Nevertheless I certainly feel that Allah (in this case) has been and continues to
look out for me.
It provides me with a calmness and level of
assurance that I didn’t have before. Regardless of what happens I feel that in
the long run things will work out or at the very least I have the tools to overcome
the slump.
And so I found myself telling my wife this story
and of how I was crying in the telling.
Crying tears of joy.
