My days are quite full. I try to only do things that I can and want to.  And, in amongst all of that, I think of my mum. I do.  

In the morning, during the day, when I go to bed. She’s permanently etched in my head and heart. Next Saturday, she would have been 92 years old. I miss her and still wonder how she could have just died.

I’m now able to say the word ‘died.’ It took me a while as I couldn’t associate my mum and death in the same sentence. But there we are. 16 months later. What to do. I too got the memo on death but I chose not to acknowledge it.

Anyways, time heals, somewhat. Or time forces you to acknowledge reality. I’ve accepted the very hard fact that I will never see her or be with her again. Life doesn’t make sense. Living, dying … But then again loads of things don’t make sense to me.

I’m thinking and writing ‘aloud’ about life. My mum lived for over 90 years, and now she’s no more. She was a huge part of my life, and now she’s not. What’s the point in that? People might argue that I was lucky, fortunate to enjoy my mum for as long as I did. I agree with those people. I am very grateful.

Now what? I miss her, so what do I do about it? The same people might point out that my mum would want me to live my life. Again, I agree with those people. My mum would want that for me. And, I’m living my life as best as I can. I’ve control over more things than not. I appreciate that. One can be grateful and still ask, ponder, wonder about the point or the pointlessness of life. And, my head space wonders a lot…  And, in amongst all that wondering, I remember and think of my mum.  

Memories – sometimes fleeting, sometimes longer – all of which take me back to her. Happy, funny, sad, nostalgic and the many ‘that’s so my mum will do and say’ kind of things. For instance, she always placed so much importance on her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and in-laws’ birthdays and anniversaries. Cards were a must. Both sending and receiving them.

She would diligently write her well wishes, place some prayer/holy ash and sign off with her signature,  ‘Love – Ma.’ She could write effortlessly in Tamil but was a little unsure in English. She would practise first before transferring her messages into the cards. Sister number 1 has said many times how brother in-law number 1 looked forward to the prayer/holy ash my mum sent in his birthday cards.

I guess not so strangely, she didn’t take too kindly to infringements i.e. forgetting to send her birthday and Mother’s Day cards. I’m laughing as I’m writing this as I recall certain ‘infringers and infringements.’ Way back in 2012, I remember posting a Mother’s Day card from a New York post office to my mum while she was with sister number 4 in Sydney. It was the first time that I had to write the sender’s full name and address. Me, that is. Now, it’s expected practice to also include the mobile numbers of the sender and recipient.

My mum was not the easiest person to buy presents for because she could never tell you what she wanted. But she did have a staple of everyday things that she liked and used, which served as her birthday presents list. I kid you not, her face always lit up at the sight of washing up liquids, kitchen towels, and toilet rolls. Her babies, as she used to call them, not her children😊.

Dutch Lady Full Cream Milk and prunes were close seconds. And, a selection of fruits from bananas/‘pisang mas,’ guava with seeds, not seedless, mangoes, papaya to persimmon. I now half understand why my mum called persimmon ‘pisang kaki.’ ‘Kaki’ is Japanese for persimmon. She may have remembered the word from during the Japanese occupation in the 1940s. But pisang is banana, which doesn’t fit the round shape of persimmons. I can’t fact check it with her. Sigh.

Back to presents, she totally loved counting the monies in her birthday cards. I’m laughing as I am writing this. She would count, and then count again, and somehow not get it correct. My mum’s very astute with money. Place a dollar sign in front of any figure, and she can add, subtract, multiply, no problem. But counting her birthday monies was a problem. I think the excitement tripped her up.

My mum kept almost all her birthday, Mother’s Day, Tamil New Year (homemade) cards, and presents. Purses, key chains and even serviettes with an icon of a mother and daughter.

I keep them all now. Love you my Booby❤️