Dear amma,
Of all the things you taught me in life, you inadvertently taught me to take all calamities in my stride; to fight on, move on without grandeur notions of a "struggle" to be overcome.
You never gave me a chance to say goodbye. Old, frail yet resolute, you left quietly in your sleep.
I regret never asking you what you dreamt about; I regret a lot of things I said and did to you.
I have a story to share. I'm not sure the world is ready to hear it or that I am even remotely prepared to divulge it.
The irony lies in two languages- I lived in one with YOU; I live another without you. My expressions only comes in the language I now live.
I wish you could be here beside me today- for plenty of reasons. I'm also at peace to know that you lived long and left in peace, painlessly.
Life is asking of me a million questions. I wish I could answer them, like you, with a bag stitched from rags or platefuls of rice pudding- quite simply. No doubts.
I was friends with you when I was little, sitting on your room floor, making chalk drawings on a side of your large metal trunk, as you lay fighting asthma on your bed. That room is full of books now and remnants of your life- a cupboard full of your clothes we don't have the heart to give away and a bottle of hair oil that has not depleted in a year.
I miss you amma and the reason I will never forget you is that you are my heart. You hum inside of me and a little red thread on my right wrist is a constant reminder of that.
Your child-like voice of old age still asks me repeatedly, "Are you okay?"; except now, I cannot respond with a smile. I can only feel the question reverberating till it vanishes into thin, misty air...
With love,
Your grand-daughter
Of all the things you taught me in life, you inadvertently taught me to take all calamities in my stride; to fight on, move on without grandeur notions of a "struggle" to be overcome.
You never gave me a chance to say goodbye. Old, frail yet resolute, you left quietly in your sleep.
I regret never asking you what you dreamt about; I regret a lot of things I said and did to you.
I have a story to share. I'm not sure the world is ready to hear it or that I am even remotely prepared to divulge it.
The irony lies in two languages- I lived in one with YOU; I live another without you. My expressions only comes in the language I now live.
I wish you could be here beside me today- for plenty of reasons. I'm also at peace to know that you lived long and left in peace, painlessly.
Life is asking of me a million questions. I wish I could answer them, like you, with a bag stitched from rags or platefuls of rice pudding- quite simply. No doubts.
I was friends with you when I was little, sitting on your room floor, making chalk drawings on a side of your large metal trunk, as you lay fighting asthma on your bed. That room is full of books now and remnants of your life- a cupboard full of your clothes we don't have the heart to give away and a bottle of hair oil that has not depleted in a year.
I miss you amma and the reason I will never forget you is that you are my heart. You hum inside of me and a little red thread on my right wrist is a constant reminder of that.
Your child-like voice of old age still asks me repeatedly, "Are you okay?"; except now, I cannot respond with a smile. I can only feel the question reverberating till it vanishes into thin, misty air...
With love,
Your grand-daughter
