Can we ever find a carpet that my mother wove? 

I came to Canada from Iran one year ago, and my mother passed away two months after I arrived. She used to weave Persian carpets when I was a little girl, and our house was always full of flowers. Geranium pots were a constant presence in the porch, while our garden was filled with morning flower and roses, thanks to my mother’s green thumbs.

Her passing in the middle of summer was difficult, and every time I walked through my new neighborhood, the flowers in the neighbors' gardens reminded me of her and my childhood. These reminders brought back the complex emotions I have about my mother and my homeland. Our differing views on traditions and religion added complexity to my memories of her, blending love with underlying tensions.

I still think about how I can find one of the carpets she wove, but I know it’s almost impossible. Persian carpet weavers often remain anonymous, and I never appreciated this part of her life before. In the past, I avoided mentioning her weaving because it felt like a reminder of our family's poverty. But now, the carpets symbolize both my mother and my Motherland, carrying with them all the complicated feelings I have towards both.