Flip through the latest issue of Gulf Weekly.
In recognition of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, I would like to dedicate this week's column to all the victims and the families and friends of those who have suffered or are currently suffering from this illness which plagues so many.
Nearly a year ago, I first told Bahrain of my mother's story and her journey, no our journey, with cancer.
I have written of the journey but I have never revealed how it ended.
It is my hope that through writing of the pain of that ending, someone out there reading this will be touched and tell their mother, sister, cousin and even all their female friends that it is never too late, or too early, to check.
In the year 2000, when I was just nine-years-old, I learned that my mother, Zenaida, was sick but I did not fully comprehend what cancer was.
All I knew was that it took my mum away for just a little while to the hospital where she slept and had to relax after each of her chemotherapy and radiation sessions. Nothing prepared me for what was to come in the next five or six years.
You may ask when and how did you really understand what cancer was. To those who ask I tell you this:
It is when you miss your mother as she is in hospital for three months at a time and you can only see her twice a week.
It is when they bring her back home and all she can feel is constant pain and the urge to be sick is always there. It is when, as a son, you must hold a bucket beside her and help her vomit because she is sick all the time.
It is when the day comes when you, along with all your family and friends, attend a funeral and watch as your oldest brother and father bury your own mother and lay her in her final resting place.
The end of cancer is when you realise that there shall be no more pain. The end of cancer is when you realise that your mother is no longer a part of your daily life. It is when you know that as you walk the aisle during your graduation or even your own wedding, your mother will not be there to greet you with her smile and her warmth.
Growing up with cancer, I did know that one day my mother's body would not be able to resist the constant pain and agony. I mentally prepared myself for it, but there is no shock so great as being told that your mother has gone.
As I sit here and reminisce about my beloved mother, I cannot help but allow the tears to roll down my cheeks and pause for a few moments and remember the good times rather than the bad.
It may come as an insult to those families, just like mine, to be writing of the bad and of how families suffer. My apologies, however, one must realise where I am coming from.
I hope by writing this you are touched and somewhere in your heart, you will find a trigger that will allow you to pass on encouragement and knowledge to your family and friends that early detection can resolve a lot of things. Early detection could at least save another family from experiencing a story similar to mine.
