My mother dedicated herself to healthy living after her hormones were affected by a thyroid surgery she had 15 years ago. She had always been careful before, but this surgery was a turning point for her. Later, after my father was diagnosed with cancer, her interest in healthy living grew even more; she researched every possible topic, especially for my father’s healing. She took such wonderful care of him throughout his entire illness. She cared for him so well that although his life expectancy was only a few years after being diagnosed with lung cancer—and despite the cancer metastasizing four times and reaching stage 4 over the years—my father continued to live for eight years.
Losing my father was, of course, very difficult for her; she couldn’t pull herself together, especially during the first year of his loss. The final stage of my father’s illness had become so painful that it gave us a small sense of solace regarding his passing. My mother’s pain eased a bit after the first year, and from then on, she started her life anew.
After my father, my mother devoted herself to the garden and the fields. On the lands where she was born and where her childhood was spent, we built a house on the plot inherited from her great-grandfather, in the village. She settled there full-time, returning to her roots. Her backyard was like a production house. It produced enough for us, other relatives, and sometimes almost the entire village. In addition to the vegetable garden, she was constantly looking after our vineyards. We were making our own wines. We had built a dream together.
As if none of this was enough to slow down her industriousness, she also developed a passion for flour. On the lands inherited from her grandfather, she began planting “karakılçık” wheat from heirloom seeds she had found. The flavor was so exquisite. Every year she learned something new and expanded the business. In her final year, we were making not just flour from the wheat, but also tarhana, noodles, and bulgur—everything. This 100% organic wheat, grown entirely without pesticides, became a source of healing for all of us.
My mother’s contribution to humanity was not just through clean production. She thought of everyone. If she heard someone was sick, she would do everything in her power to heal them, both through proper nutrition and spirituality. If someone in her circle had a headache, they would call her saying, “Sister, would you pray for/read over me?” From miles away, with my mother’s prayers, the person’s headache would disappear. In our family, they used to jokingly call her “Sarı Hoca” (The Blonde Hodja) to tease her about this gift. If Sarı Hoca truly prayed for someone, there was no one she couldn’t heal.
My dear mother, who never committed an act of unkindness against a single person, who thought only of everyone’s well-being, and who devoted herself to healthy eating; she passed away at the age of 62 from a sudden heart attack, with no prior health issues.
My mother, who had looked after me like the apple of her eye since my childhood, who never withheld a single thing despite all the hardships, who did everything she could, and most importantly, who never lacked for love; she passed away suddenly in a remote town in Spain where we had gone to travel together and celebrate my birthday. It happened while waiting in the lobby for a winery tour, just one hour before the exact time of my birth. She couldn’t say goodbye, nor did she have time to say a final word. After two hours of CPR, until the doctors said “It was a massive heart attack,” we didn’t even realize it was a heart attack. After İrfan’s passing, my mother had undergone detailed cardiological examinations in 2023, and she had her last regular annual check-up this past June. In her 62-year history, she had many medical records, but the heart was the very last thing on that list.
I was born on October 21, 1989, at 14:40. From the time I started university, my mother began calling me every year on my birthday at exactly 14:40. She would say, “I’m so glad I gave birth to you, my son.” Even when I was abroad, she would calculate the time difference and call accordingly. She turned this into a tradition. On one of my birthdays, since the time was exactly 14:40 while I was on a flight, I surprised her and sent her a voice recording at exactly 14:40. It had become a routine of perhaps 15 years.
After losing my father, we became even closer. In recent years, she never missed any of my birthdays; she would always surprise me and come to be with me.
My dear mother, who never caused harm to a single soul in this world; she passed away on her son’s birthday, while waiting for the hour to celebrate his birthday, without knowing that she wouldn’t be able to celebrate it this time. I wonder, did she realize she was dying in her final seconds? Did it hurt while they were performing CPR? Or did she feel nothing because she was already completely gone?
Where is she now? In a world where there is so much evil, is such a death fair for my mother, who never did wrong to anyone?
I hope that where you have gone is a place at least more just than this world, a place with less pain, where at least evil does not go unpunished. I hope you have somehow been reunited with my father. I hope your soul was able to endure such a sudden departure. I hope that your captivity in this world has come to an end.
Rest in peace, my dear mother.