7 years

My mother passed away seven years ago today. Those who knew me then, know we had a complicated relationship, something not atypical of mothers and daughters in itself. The root of our complication stemmed entirely from her disease, but that’s not what I want to write about here.

Last year, the anniversary of my mum’s death came and went, and only about a week later did I remember. I felt incredibly guilty.  I hadn’t forgotten her, but I had moved across the world and stepped into a new phase in my life. No longer was I living where she had spent a few of the last days of her life, nor was I sitting on the couch on which she had slept. I no longer drove near the house where we lived together for 14 years or visited the grocery store we had so often shopped in together. The physical reminders were few and Doha was so so fresh and novel. My new, Doha memories didn’t and wouldn’t include her.

You might wonder why would I write about my mother on a blog about veganism. Well,  a big part of my veganism stems from what I learned from my mum. She wasn’t vegan, not even close. In fact, when I went vegan, she tried her very best to convince me otherwise. This led to my researching and reading everything I could find on veganism, so I could convince her that I would not drop dead without meat in my diet. Her plot backfired and made me all the more knowledgeable and committed, and she eventually accepted my choice like any good parent would.

At the time of her death, my mother was a staunch omnivore, and despite our philosophical differences, I don’t think I’d have this blog if it weren’t for her. She showed me that animals were living, sentient beings. She showed me how to love cats and a dog as siblings, which later made me feel no shame in loving my own dogs in the same way I love any family member. She taught me that an animal is for life and not to fill a temporary void or to be abandoned when convenient. She also taught me that regardless of species, race or religion, living beings should all be treated with respect.

As clichéd as they might sound, these lessons, and others, shape every aspect of the life I live today, and I’m constantly reminded of the links between what I believe and something my mother told me once upon a time. My mother wasn’t perfect, and I don’t even think she practiced all that she preached,  yet I wouldn’t trade her for any mother in the world. I really wish I could have told her that.