I wasn’t sure if I wanted to write this.. and even after writing if I wanted to publish it.. May be I will make it private later, maybe I will leave it on here, who knows..
Today is my mom’s birthday.. My mom who was taken from us too soon, shortly after her 40th birthday. My mom is forty forever! We are the same age now. It makes me feel all kinds of sad …like there is this void , this heaviness that I can’t even explain.
I try to find myself in her face and I can’t see me anywhere.. I see my sister though .. the same tilt of head, the same eyes & just something about her whole posture, in her sense of style. She has the same elegant style, just her own.
But I see her in my face, when I look at the first photo of me taken with BabyA ..I see her in my face snuggling Baby An.. I see her in me when I cook something she used to or when I find myself humming quietly in the kitchen . I find comfort in the fact that I am so much like her.. I am so much like my mom. I was always a daddy’s girl.. but I am so much like my mom.
We are also so different, specially when it comes to our parenting styles. She was the quiet, supportive, firm kinds who didn’t believe in openly praising, but if someone so much as dared to say anything about us,the lioness in her would wake up, ready to tear them apart. And we always knew that. I would fight with her knowing that she would still be in my corner, no matter what.
I am the opposite, I am a hugger, a kisser and believe in showering not just my kids but everyone else with compliments- but the lioness part is the same like my mommy’s . And though A-An & I have our share of fights, I know that they know that I am always in their corner. Although I sometimes wonder if we are different because I try to over-compensate for what I was deprived of so early on in life or is it just me? Would I still be the same person, the same mum, if my mom was still alive? Guess we’ll never know..
I spent half of my life (my time with my mom ) trying to be a rebel, trying to prove that I am different, that I am not her and the irony is that I have spent the other half of my life trying to be her. And it doesn’t matter how old I turn – my life will always be split into two halves – the half I spent with my mom and the half without her.
Today was a hard day.. hard because I was feeling mopey & miserable, isolation has made it harder .. it has really. The day has passed … the feeling hasn’t… it probably will never get better and in some strange way I don’t want it to get better.
Sometime remembering hurts too much… but the hurt reminds you that it was real..that it existed.. and I wouldn’t trade it for anything..