TaylorBowl

Today I heard someone say “Happy TAYLORBOWL” to a barista. I hoped they were friends cause if not, that chick is unhinged.

Am I wrong? Is saying “Happy TaylorBowl” an actual thing right now? It reminded me of the hype that surrounded Beyonce’s SuperBowl performance. Remember?

It was the year the stadium lost power.

When I woke up that morning, the only thing I knew for certain was that I would watch the halftime show. Looking back now, Beyonce’s performance is the only thing I don’t remember about that day. I held onto more important details though, like:

• I made sure to visit my cousin's grave, Allah yerhamo, because the night before I promised his spirit that I would. I’m not crazy.

• My ex and I argued all morning…about everything. We were toxic.

• I forgot to buy my mom tea the day before and promised her I would take care of it before the game. I didn’t intend to lie.

I remember leaving the cemetery, heading to Mom’s, and getting a call from my sister.

“Mom’s not picking up the phone, trying to share the news, have you spoken to her?”

I told her I’d make sure to have Mom call her back.

I got home and found Mom sleeping in her favorite chair. I cherish this moment because it was the last time I called out to my mom, expecting a response.

From the top of the stairs, I called,

Mom, wake up. I’m here.

Moooooomm

Mama?

Yumma, oomy

Yumma

I learned that I argue in English, but my heart voices despair in Arabic.

I look back on that moment and think of Simba tugging Mufasa’s ear after the stampede.

Breaks my heart every time.

These last 120-plus days have been so hard because I can’t stop thinking about all the Simba moments. All the Scars.

Have you seen the videos? Of the child screaming into the rubble?

Repeating one word, over and over.

“Mama.”

My soul ached because I knew that with each attempt,he was getting closer to a deeper truth.

He will never again hear his mother respond to his voice.

I used to think my last moments with my Mom were so sad. Now I see how lucky I am.

There was no rubble, no bombs, no bloodshed. No revolution was needed for me to grieve in peace.

I couldn’t be more thankful for the way God took my mom back home.

Especially today, as you enjoy American sports meant to distract from American bombs, I hope you’ll carry the details that matter.

• Children screaming into the void hoping for a response.

• Unexpected last thoughts, calls, arguments, and prayers.

• The sound of your mother’s voice

For the record, I couldn’t care less about the Superbowl and I hope the stadium loses power again, for good.

One final note about Simba.

He came back for the pride and won.

AMK - 2/11/24

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