Tuesday, 1 October 2013

Mom

I don't remember when i last wrote. I know it was before my mother died.

There i said it. On my own.

The year has divided itself into before mom and after. And i still cry when i think of her.

Some days she's all i can think of. Her wrinkled soft skin. Us calling her the security officer of the house. I wonder how many cycles there are to grief, and why i have to go through it so many times.

When my father died, it took me very long to get over it. I wonder if i still have. I have stopped crying when i think of him, and i can now look at his pictures. I can't look too long at mum's.

Winding down, packing up the pieces. Wondering what to do with her things. Her clock beeps at 11.44pm every night. If i'm working in the room, it sends a shiver down my spine. The sound is so unexpected, reminds me of my mum trying to sleep but always staring at the back of my head.

She always looked as though she wanted to say something, tell me something, but never did.

When i was young I asked her why she had five children. Couldn't she have stopped at the first three. I thought they could have done better keeping their family small.

Some days when i think too much, i understand that there's a karmic cycle somewhere. I'm in it too.

 

1 comment:

  1. Many hugs, ana, and she would have been glad you're writing again. Suhasini

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