Amma, I will love you endlessly

My mother was determined to give us things that she thought a normal kid should have, in order that we should not be considered different. Ironically, it’s also what I felt when I was offered a position in a university, which I had hoped to enrol in. I was overwhelmed by happiness, however another part of me thought otherwise.

As my friends were sharing how their parents reacted to their offers, their mothers in tears, some with smiles, some with hugs and kisses, expressing how proud their parents were of them, it reminded me of the part of me that I was missing; my amma.

Whilst my friends were blessed with the privilege of kissing their mothers, I only had her photograph to look at. No sources of comfort, no way of hearing her telling me the sweet phrase I desired to hear the most; “I’m so proud of you”.

The more I stared at her photograph, the more I realised, that she wasn’t there to see me become the woman that she wanted to see me become. All there was left was a photo with a fixed smile, which still managed to somehow comfort me with silence, when I needed her the most.

I was disappointed that she wasn’t there to hug me and tell me she cared. Disappointed, that she could no longer crack her sarcastic jokes, which in her opinion were “topnotch”.

Disappointed, that I couldn’t tell her how much she meant to me when I had the chance to. Disappointed, that I couldn’t share my small milestones in life with her.

On February 8, it’ll be five years since she eft us without notice. Since then, I’ve heard many people say to me, “Don’t worry, time will heal”. But, I’m still waiting on time to do its duty of healing. As each year passes, I accomplish bigger things, better things, but not having my amma by my side always restricts me from feeling the full extent of happiness.

The reality of a photograph being the closest I can get to her, leaves me restless. Words simply cannot explain how much I desire to be held by her, to have her gentle hands stroke my hair like she used to or even to have her tell me stories from her childhood, that would leave me breathless from laughter.

Words cannot explain how jealous I have become of my own friends for being able to do the exact things that I yearn to do at least one more time.

Words cannot explain how much I’m affected by her absence.

But I know and I understand, that no matter how far she may be from me physically, she’s always with me in thought. She’s the woman that made me who I am, the woman I aspire to become and the woman I love endlessly; my Amma.

Anarkaie Manel Dharmakeerthie