THIS will be the second Mother’s Day that I will “endure” without my mom, who left us so suddenly. There was no time for farewells, no chance to express my gratitude and certainly no opportunity to apologise for any unintended missteps.
I find myself wondering why I waited so long to show her the appreciation she deserved during all those years when she showered me with love like there was no tomorrow.
We all must eventually say that final goodbye but losing a mother leaves a void that nothing can fill. When I cook, I still feel her presence next to me, guiding me through the rituals and rhythms of the kitchen.
In my daily life, her teachings and her essence permeate everything I do, especially when I am in the kitchen. It is here that her presence feels most palpable. She stands by me, a phantom guide ensuring that each dish adheres to the rituals she revered.
Yet, as I attempt to craft the perfectly round tosai, just as she did, I often falter. Each irregular shape becomes a silent reprimand, a gentle nudge from the past that I could have done better, as if she is softly chiding me for not meeting the high standards she set with ease.
Her voice still resonates, particularly in those moments when I challenged her ways, like the time I whimsically suggested that tosai could be square. The idea was met with a blend of disbelief and stern admonition, a testament to her commitment to tradition and her slightly amused intolerance for needless innovation in her well-ordered culinary world.
As Mother’s Day dawns, it is not only my mother’s memory that fills me with longing and appreciation but also the extraordinary life of my sister-in-law. Ironically, she, who has never been a mother in the traditional sense, has thrice assumed the mantle of caregiving with grace and resilience that is nothing short of maternal.
She began with her own father, transitioning seamlessly into the role of his caretaker as cancer cruelly eroded his vitality. Her dedication never wavered, and her home became a sanctuary of love and quiet dignity until his last breath.
Years later, she was there again, this time for her mother who succumbed slowly to the haze of Alzheimer’s. With tireless devotion, she circumnavigated the complexities of her mother’s care, balancing the increasing demands with a firm resolve.
On occasions when her mother lovingly immersed herself in memories of her teenage years, my sister-in-law, ever patient and devoted, would listen intently, engaging in whatever may soothe her mother’s fragile recollections. She would navigate this delicate maze with her mother, carefully preserving their bond without causing any pain.
Her role did not cease with her mother’s passing, it only morphed into new challenges when her sister, overwhelmed by dementia and the grief of widowhood, needed her.
Her sister, a once-brilliant PhD holder, now like a child needs constant supervision to prevent unpredictable and unreasonable actions, and the toll on the caregiver is unimaginable. Yet, her steadfast devotion is palpable, a testament to the depth of love that anchors her through each challenging day.
My sister-in-law’s life seems a witness to the mysterious workings of fate, casting her in a role of a guardian and nurturer, tasked with offering maternal love without bearing the title of “mother”.
Her actions highlight a broader, more inclusive definition of motherhood, one not confined by biological or conventional boundaries but defined by acts of unconditional love and sacrifice.
This Mother’s Day, we honour not just those who have given birth but all who embody the spirit of motherhood. My sister-in-law stands among these giants, her life a quiet resonance of the love and persistence that my own mother exemplified.
The lessons of compassion and resilience that these remarkable women teach us continue to vibrate deeply, reminding us that motherhood, in all its forms, is a profound, expansive embrace that transcends conventional labels.
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