A happy Ramadan Mubarak to those who are fasting.
Made samosas for Son. They are yet to be fried.
Ramadan is here once again. Every year it moves by ten days ahead. Monday was our first fast. Actually I’m not fasting this year (Son is the one who is fasting), because I’m not well. I had a minor stroke, and was hospitalized.
I have some questions. Why do the nurses extract so much blood from patients in the name of tests? And why do they put a cannula in a place on your arms making it impossible to move your hands. I couldn’t use my right hand. I’m a right handed person. There was one in the crook of my arm making me unable to eat, and brush my teeth even. I must say it was totally uncomfortable. Oil had splashed on the back of my left hand a day earlier while I was frying something, or the other, forming blisters. The nurses used the back of my left hand to draw out more blood for God knows more testing. So that hand was a painful mess too. Every three hours I would be stoically looking the other way to bear the painful jabs.
My husband passed away almost seven years ago. In August it will be his seventh death anniversary. Before any illness he is there sitting near my head. All this long he never spoke to me directly in my dreams, except for once. The night before I fell sick, he was there holding me, telling me to go to sleep. I was like saying, “No, no I can’t sleep. I have to do this, and I have to do that……”
I’m left wondering if I had gone to sleep, would I have woken up again?
Sometimes it’s so hard to write something. There was a time the daily prompt came with a few guide lines to make it easy to write. It’s harder now with one word. Nothing comes to mind even when one peruse what others have written, and comes to the conclusion no ideas-nothing in the eggnosh upstairs.
Son came from the hospital–tired and hungry. He had been up since two in the morning. He espied the pot of chickpeas I had left to cool off. I love to add chickpeas to rice. It’s one of my favorites along with raisins, walnuts (adding walnuts I copied from my sister). Son filled a bowl with chickpeas, added salt and black pepper, and sat down to eat it. He had another bowl full, then declared he had his lunch, and promptly went off to sleep.
He gave me the idea to have the same myself, saving me from thinking what to have for lunch. I filled a bowl, added half a tomato plus a little bit of onions, and vinegar. I microwaved it for a minute, added salt and pepper, and presto here is my lunch. Easy peasy go!
I have zipped up my lunch, and now I can have a go at other things I have to do.
Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.
When was the last time someone told you they were proud of you?
Who was going to tell me that he, or she is proud of me? What a tricky question?
I phoned my daughter, and asked her, “are you proud of me?”
She started, “you had no mother to follow a role model……….” She started laughing , “haha…”
Oops! I was getting alarmed. Was she laughing at me?
“No, I can’t hold my tears”. She cried in earnest.
I did get an earful of praise from her. No use writing, that’s so contrived.
Although I suppose I can write about my late husband. Two weeks before he died, we returned to our rooms from the hospital. He was drained of energy after his chemotherapy session. I fed him chicken soup, and helped him to bed. As I was covering him with a sheet, he remarked that he was not going to make it.
I couldn’t stop crying, although I always took care not to cry in front of him. I asked his forgiveness for anything I may have done in my life with him. He tried to get up, but he had gone so weak. With tears in his eyes, he asked my forgiveness, and said that he was proud that I was his wife…….