mommy..
Guest Post – by Zuleika Sethi
She was a woman of substance…one who had endured and persevered, in the face of adversity and tragedy, and managed to keep her dignity and
her sanity. She had accepted whatever fate had dealt her, with courage, determination and optimism…that is how I remember Bilal’s mother, Afifa Mushtaq.
She loved her son more than she loved anyone or anything in the world….and since I was the best friend, I was treated with the same love and affection, that a protective parent showers on a child. I remember one last long conversation I had with her…where I recounted an awful recurring nightmare to her. That day as I burdened her with my worst fears and my insecurities, she listened calmly, waiting for my ranting to finish. And then she told me firmly that Nothing would happen…that she knew that Nothing would happen. That was all the reassurance I needed. She had that power, and she had alot of love to give!
The last few days of her life coincided with my trip to Lahore. We never had a chance to discuss the hundreds of things I had wanted to talk to her about. She had a quiet calm about her. She knew her time had come. She was at peace and she was ready to move on……and she did so on July 19th with the dignity that had marked her life.
- Zuleika

“Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!”Mary Frye (1932)









