9th of September

There are 4 days to go before the 9th of September. But I thought I'd dedicate today's post to a beloved mother who didn't live long enough to see me beyond my high-school days.

Mama.

A child remembers the tiniest but fondest details....


Your faded, mummified yellow cardigan. Mummified in the sense that it smelled so much of you.

Your rose-tinted glasses (literally). It might please you to know that oversized eyeglasses frames are now back in vogue.

The creases in your palms. I don't think you thought of using hand-creams, because you'd keep washing it off anyway... and you wanted to save all that money to buy us books and toys.

The scent of your presence. Especially when you switch on our bedroom lights upon a surprise spot-check to see if we had defied your orders to sleep right after lights-out (instead of yakking away). I remember rehearsing (with Zoey) the emergency procedures that we would need to follow, had you entered our room suddenly. Basically, we were to stop whatever we were doing or saying... and turn into statues. With closed eyes. Of course, a certain person often couldn't help giggling in her sleep!

Your neat, slanted handwriting.

Bedtime. Your heart-to-heart talks with your children - they lasted for at least an hour.

Hearing your voice on the other end of a telephone call from school - even though you were a little vexed about having to bring me the book that I had forgotten to put into my school bag the night before.

The deepest dimples in the world. Sadly, they appeared less and less towards the end of your life on Earth. Your infectious laughter too.

You driving at 60km/h on a straight, quiet road - much to my annoyance. I don't think you would approve of my driving speed too. In fact, you would be horrified. I guess we're even now.

That one night - when I was a little girl and I couldn't stop crying in the middle of the night. I remember you taking me back to bed after all that drama was over; wiping me all over with a comforting, damp cloth; and dusting my back with talcum powder that smelled so good.

Dearest mama,

I celebrate the day you were born because even on that day 61 years ago, God already had all your days written in His book before anyone of them came to be - including the days you would spend loving us. Thank you for being my mama.

Loving you still,
me