I lived with a saint.

My Moroccan mother-in-law, Oum El-Khiat Hiba (translation: The Mother of the Brothers and Sisters), was a saint. I don’t mean this metaphorically but quite literally. Her actions, demeanor, and profound spirituality set her apart from 99.9% of the people I have ever known.

Only a saint could have endured the travails and disappointments heaped upon her tiny back.

She came to live with my wife and me in Georgia when the last slivers of sunlight flickered in her life.  

Becoming a saint started early. She was orphaned at age two. Her father abandoned her and her mother in the blistering countryside not far from Marrakech, Morocco. Another woman had caught his fancy. Penniless her mother surrendered her to Oum El Khiat’s grandparents.

Her early life in the countryside was peaceful, but when her mother remarried and had children, she was called to live in Rabat to become the caregiver of her brothers and sisters; hence, her name, Oum El Khiat Hiba.  

For five years, Meiu (Mom) lived with us. She taught us patience, and most importantly, she taught us about love—not in words but in her actions, as she poured her soft love upon everything that crossed her path.     

This Mother’s Day, I want to celebrate this woman, the Mother, Meiu, who came to live with us and showered her saintly blessings upon us. Before she left this world, it became clear that the only thing that could replace her was love—only love.

On this Mother’s Day, remember your mother…. and don’t forget the love.

Kirk Laman

The Wholehearted Cardiologist

Seek. Knock. Open Your Heart.