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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Family & Friends
- Subject: Aging / Maturity
- Published: 05/23/2013
ISOLATION
F, from UK, United KingdomNo one can take away this feeling of isolation
(A true account interview translated from Urdu.)
I am 67 and came to the UK after my marriage at the age of 20.
Times were hard then and me and my husband worked very hard to make a comfortable lifestyle for ourselves in the UK but also support our families back in Pakistan.
They were hard times but good times. The love me and my husband had for each other helped us get through many struggles in life. As with other couples and families who were in similar situations, we always pulled together and created a good support network between ourselves.
I had a son. Unlike other people I had my son quite late and his birth was such a special occasion for me and my husband. We had tried to have children for many years and there came a point we lost hope. The birth of our son was truly a beautiful moment, our life became complete and we were so happy.
As years passed by me and my husband continued to work hard and provide our son with the best possible education and comforts we could.
Bilal was growing up to be a very intelligent young man, respectful of his parents, cultures and religion. This was very important for us and we felt all our hard work paid off.
Bilal was studying to be a lawyer, it was a passion of his and we had always encouraged him to follow his interests and ambitions. During his studies my husband had a major stroke. His was a huge blow to me and Bilal. Bilal wanted to give up his studies and care for his father but I wanted him to continue and complete his studies.
I cared for my husband for two years with the support of my local health authority who were excellent in supporting us during this difficult time. Following a long episode of illness my husband passed away.
That day I guess I lost a huge part of myself. He was not only my husband but my best friend, my companion, my rock. I had never felt so lonely and frightened in my life. The feeling of living without my husband was unimaginable. I became very quiet and depressed and although I had support from people within the community and family, nothing seemed to take that sunken feeling away.
Bilal managed to complete his studies successfully and with excellent results. It was decided by both of us that it would do us good to visit family in Pakistan for a few weeks. The change of environment and climate would do me good.
It was extremely strange visiting Pakistan after so many years. The Pakistan I had left had changed so much. To the extent that I did not recognise the culture and traditions I valued so much. It also saddened me that having supported my family all my life, how me and my late husband would send regular money to ensure our families were comfortable, the same family seemed cold and distant.
I put this down to how things had changed in Pakistan as things had in the UK. Time changes everything I guess. During our stay in Pakistan Bilal became very friendly with his cousin Maria. They would spend hours chatting, laughing and visiting places. It was nice to see the two happy.
Bilal decided he wanted to marry Maria. I remember so clearly, he sat next to me with his head leaning on my shoulder and telling me how much he loved me. He had a habit of doing this as a young child, it was very comforting. As he leaned on my shoulder he told me how much he liked Maria and that he would like to marry her if I agreed. I held his face and kissed his forehead and told him his happiness was my happiness and I would do anything to see him happy.
Bilal and Maria’s wedding was a huge and happy occasion. The only thing missing was my husband, he would have been so happy to have seen Bilal’s marriage. I was very happy and my emotional health began to improve slightly as I became busy again and making arrangements for Maria to come to the UK.
Bilal and Maria were very happy together. When I would see them it would remind me of me and my husband when we newly married. Our home was once again surrounded with happiness and this became even more so with the arrival of my grandson.
When Maria arrived I took a backseat in managing the home and provided Maria the freedom to make a home how she would like. I never interfered in their business and would be happy they had a strong relationship together, and of how Maria had managed to take the responsibility of the home, of Bilal and a child so well.
I cannot remember where things went wrong, but suddenly, it seemed overnight everything around me crumbled. Maria and Bilal seemed to have changed, they began to spend less and less time with me and although I was willing and wanted to take care of my grandson, Bilal and Maria insisted he would be going to a childminder. As always I agreed with their decision, whatever they felt was better for their son.
With time it felt as though I was completely on my own and not even living with my son and daughter in law. As I saw less and less of them my depression and loneliness grew more and more.
One day Bilal cane and sat near me. When my husband passed away I decided to transfer the house on Bilal’s name. Everything me and my husband had worked for was Bilal’s so it just made sense. Bilal began to talk. I looked up to see my son’s face and remember he couldn’t look at me. Bilal and Maria decided that it would be a good idea for me to move to a local home for the elderly. They had come to this decision and justified it by saying it would improve my health and well being as I would be able to socialise with other people of my age, go on outings and be around people who could take care of my needs.
That day the grief of losing my husband seemed to become so fresh again. How can I explain it, I simply don’t have any words to explain it. The son I prayed so hard for, worked so hard for all my life. Whose happiness was everything I wanted, suddenly became this stranger who simply wanted me out of my own home. I began to cry and question Bilal. Was I too much trouble for them? Had I upset them? I had never interfered in their lives so why had they decided this? I held my hands together and begged Bilal not to do this as he was all I had in my life, I begged and cried in front of him, but my loving Bilal had changed. He was so cold towards me, so cold.
The day arrived, my bags were packed for me and Bilal drove me to the home. As we arrived towards a large red brick building we were greeted by the Home manager and taken in. Following a tour of the home where I saw people of my age sleeping in chairs in front of the TV, others looking into space, in a daze. I noticed one thing, everyone staying there was white. There seemed to be no other Pakistani’s there. The manager took me to my room, talking me through all the great amenities provided for residents and how much care and support they provide to create a homely environment.
Bilal gave me a hug and said he was leaving. As he hugged me I didn’t want him to let go, I prayed he would change his mind and take me back home. I held him so hard as he struggled to pull away. Bilal wasn’t going to change his mind. He left, walking away not even looking back.
It has been over a year here now, since then a few other Pakistani’s have arrived in the home. Bilal and Maria come and visit once a month with my grandson. I don’t know if this sounds bad but I would rather they not visit. Every time they come and then leave its like giving me that pain all over again.
I am surrounded by white English people who know nothing of my culture or my religion. They do try, by giving me halal meals and creating a fuss on special Islamic occasions like Eid, but I miss being in my own home. I miss having my community around me. I miss cooking meals, watching my favourite Asian drama on TV. I miss ringing my friends for a chin wag. I miss sitting with Bilal and chatting.
I am now here, completely alone and isolated. My health has deteriorated and I spend days in silence, staring into space, forgetting what day it is.
I am scared, so scared I will die here and no one will know. I don’t even know if I will have a Muslim funeral Ceremony. I am scared and so alone.
Mrs Humera Chaudry
***
Mrs. Chaudry's true story has been shared with permission of Jawad Ahmed, a young psychotherapist living in the UK who operates a page for mental health on Facebook, Mental Health- Speak UP Speak OUT, where her story of heartbreak was first shared. You may find and comment on this story and others directly by going to: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mental-health-Speak-UP-Speak-OUT/233144326764233
ISOLATION(Humera Chaudry)
No one can take away this feeling of isolation
(A true account interview translated from Urdu.)
I am 67 and came to the UK after my marriage at the age of 20.
Times were hard then and me and my husband worked very hard to make a comfortable lifestyle for ourselves in the UK but also support our families back in Pakistan.
They were hard times but good times. The love me and my husband had for each other helped us get through many struggles in life. As with other couples and families who were in similar situations, we always pulled together and created a good support network between ourselves.
I had a son. Unlike other people I had my son quite late and his birth was such a special occasion for me and my husband. We had tried to have children for many years and there came a point we lost hope. The birth of our son was truly a beautiful moment, our life became complete and we were so happy.
As years passed by me and my husband continued to work hard and provide our son with the best possible education and comforts we could.
Bilal was growing up to be a very intelligent young man, respectful of his parents, cultures and religion. This was very important for us and we felt all our hard work paid off.
Bilal was studying to be a lawyer, it was a passion of his and we had always encouraged him to follow his interests and ambitions. During his studies my husband had a major stroke. His was a huge blow to me and Bilal. Bilal wanted to give up his studies and care for his father but I wanted him to continue and complete his studies.
I cared for my husband for two years with the support of my local health authority who were excellent in supporting us during this difficult time. Following a long episode of illness my husband passed away.
That day I guess I lost a huge part of myself. He was not only my husband but my best friend, my companion, my rock. I had never felt so lonely and frightened in my life. The feeling of living without my husband was unimaginable. I became very quiet and depressed and although I had support from people within the community and family, nothing seemed to take that sunken feeling away.
Bilal managed to complete his studies successfully and with excellent results. It was decided by both of us that it would do us good to visit family in Pakistan for a few weeks. The change of environment and climate would do me good.
It was extremely strange visiting Pakistan after so many years. The Pakistan I had left had changed so much. To the extent that I did not recognise the culture and traditions I valued so much. It also saddened me that having supported my family all my life, how me and my late husband would send regular money to ensure our families were comfortable, the same family seemed cold and distant.
I put this down to how things had changed in Pakistan as things had in the UK. Time changes everything I guess. During our stay in Pakistan Bilal became very friendly with his cousin Maria. They would spend hours chatting, laughing and visiting places. It was nice to see the two happy.
Bilal decided he wanted to marry Maria. I remember so clearly, he sat next to me with his head leaning on my shoulder and telling me how much he loved me. He had a habit of doing this as a young child, it was very comforting. As he leaned on my shoulder he told me how much he liked Maria and that he would like to marry her if I agreed. I held his face and kissed his forehead and told him his happiness was my happiness and I would do anything to see him happy.
Bilal and Maria’s wedding was a huge and happy occasion. The only thing missing was my husband, he would have been so happy to have seen Bilal’s marriage. I was very happy and my emotional health began to improve slightly as I became busy again and making arrangements for Maria to come to the UK.
Bilal and Maria were very happy together. When I would see them it would remind me of me and my husband when we newly married. Our home was once again surrounded with happiness and this became even more so with the arrival of my grandson.
When Maria arrived I took a backseat in managing the home and provided Maria the freedom to make a home how she would like. I never interfered in their business and would be happy they had a strong relationship together, and of how Maria had managed to take the responsibility of the home, of Bilal and a child so well.
I cannot remember where things went wrong, but suddenly, it seemed overnight everything around me crumbled. Maria and Bilal seemed to have changed, they began to spend less and less time with me and although I was willing and wanted to take care of my grandson, Bilal and Maria insisted he would be going to a childminder. As always I agreed with their decision, whatever they felt was better for their son.
With time it felt as though I was completely on my own and not even living with my son and daughter in law. As I saw less and less of them my depression and loneliness grew more and more.
One day Bilal cane and sat near me. When my husband passed away I decided to transfer the house on Bilal’s name. Everything me and my husband had worked for was Bilal’s so it just made sense. Bilal began to talk. I looked up to see my son’s face and remember he couldn’t look at me. Bilal and Maria decided that it would be a good idea for me to move to a local home for the elderly. They had come to this decision and justified it by saying it would improve my health and well being as I would be able to socialise with other people of my age, go on outings and be around people who could take care of my needs.
That day the grief of losing my husband seemed to become so fresh again. How can I explain it, I simply don’t have any words to explain it. The son I prayed so hard for, worked so hard for all my life. Whose happiness was everything I wanted, suddenly became this stranger who simply wanted me out of my own home. I began to cry and question Bilal. Was I too much trouble for them? Had I upset them? I had never interfered in their lives so why had they decided this? I held my hands together and begged Bilal not to do this as he was all I had in my life, I begged and cried in front of him, but my loving Bilal had changed. He was so cold towards me, so cold.
The day arrived, my bags were packed for me and Bilal drove me to the home. As we arrived towards a large red brick building we were greeted by the Home manager and taken in. Following a tour of the home where I saw people of my age sleeping in chairs in front of the TV, others looking into space, in a daze. I noticed one thing, everyone staying there was white. There seemed to be no other Pakistani’s there. The manager took me to my room, talking me through all the great amenities provided for residents and how much care and support they provide to create a homely environment.
Bilal gave me a hug and said he was leaving. As he hugged me I didn’t want him to let go, I prayed he would change his mind and take me back home. I held him so hard as he struggled to pull away. Bilal wasn’t going to change his mind. He left, walking away not even looking back.
It has been over a year here now, since then a few other Pakistani’s have arrived in the home. Bilal and Maria come and visit once a month with my grandson. I don’t know if this sounds bad but I would rather they not visit. Every time they come and then leave its like giving me that pain all over again.
I am surrounded by white English people who know nothing of my culture or my religion. They do try, by giving me halal meals and creating a fuss on special Islamic occasions like Eid, but I miss being in my own home. I miss having my community around me. I miss cooking meals, watching my favourite Asian drama on TV. I miss ringing my friends for a chin wag. I miss sitting with Bilal and chatting.
I am now here, completely alone and isolated. My health has deteriorated and I spend days in silence, staring into space, forgetting what day it is.
I am scared, so scared I will die here and no one will know. I don’t even know if I will have a Muslim funeral Ceremony. I am scared and so alone.
Mrs Humera Chaudry
***
Mrs. Chaudry's true story has been shared with permission of Jawad Ahmed, a young psychotherapist living in the UK who operates a page for mental health on Facebook, Mental Health- Speak UP Speak OUT, where her story of heartbreak was first shared. You may find and comment on this story and others directly by going to: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mental-health-Speak-UP-Speak-OUT/233144326764233
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