Her first breathes warmly touch my neck, as I try to recall what your last breathes did hit like. A tragic cluster of pandemonium breaks out, every time that your footprint carves a tattoo of your absence on the clayish surface of my heart. Here, I give relentless trials to feel her first peaceful sleep since she’s born, but your last one still haunts me. The way she furls in my arm, and stops shedding little droplets of aliveness down, the destitute spirit inside me starts missing moments those I never even have got to spend with you. I can sensitize what I wasn’t fortuned with. I can know what my younger self has been saved from. I had always known. But this day, dear Mom, this day I became so eligible to understand your situation, your bane as well.
These past few hours signifies what didn’t well up enough in the last 29 years of my life. I’ve always sighted only my misfortune, my aches, my sufferings, all the time, always, yet I’d never gave a thought about yours. My consciousness, today, can visualize what you were never been privelleged with, dear Mom, I can sense your pain of losing me, of losing motherhood. I could inhale your aches, the turmoiled ending of your journey at the edge of its very beginning. Mom, your motherless labile child’s every beat is reciting today, is reciting but only you. I’m welcoming the exhilarated motherly duties that life has handed over to me, and I’m still mourning the burden of the same, those you weren’t gifted with. My eyes are in chaos today, if the tears are what they giving birth to, or what they’re losing by the loosen grips. Because, dear Mom, I’m yet to decide if these are dewdrops of melancholy or of gladness.
Dear Mom, father had never kept me in any insufficiency. I was always provided with more materials than required. I’d my Nanny who used to love me like her own child, maybe in exchange of coins, maybe not. But to me, she had been a wonderful caretaker, who’d this preachy tongue. She indeed used to be with me all day long at home, she used to feed me, caresses me, sing to me lullabies until I fell asleep. She was totally amazing but, dear Mom, but she wasn’t YOU. She wasn’t my mother, and that lumbered fact was heavier than rest of the others.
Dear Mom, you must know how I’ve craved for your sight on every ‘Mother’s Day’. That I used to win competitions, by stitching garlands of sentences on the topic ‘Mother’. I never knew if I was really good with the art of bundling words up, or if it was just their sympathy for me that worked out in my benefit. But I’d have so rather chosen you over a thousand prizes, if lives were ever some options.
Destiny had propelled me towards harsh roads to walk through, even when my frail limbs hadn’t mastered the art of standing on their own. Yet, dear Mom, your daughter had crawled through the ways designed with only thrones, and yet none of the sharpest jab had stopped her from shambling. My scars, my wounds, the bleeding torn portions of my skin had mumbled to me, to stay strong. Emotionally, I’d uprooted my veins from the land of aloneness. I’ve always cajoled myself for never giving up the esprit, maybe the one that I carry in myself from you. Mom, you’ve always been my strength, of course invisible you had been, but indivisible we were, indivisible we had been.
Your blood that oscillates under my fleshes, have empowered me physically. Metaphysically, our souls are coaxial, so I involuntarily follow your marks on the axis and you’ve never mislead. I wonder how beautifully you’ve been in my mind all these years, how astonishingly your absence had achieved what your presence could never possibly would had.
And, Mom, I still remember the first day of my schooling, where every kid’s each hands were beholden by both of their parents, leading them towards the classroom. Mine little fingers of a hand were securely encircled inside father’s palm. The other one had searched for yours, stretching towards blind void. I’d seen kids being caressed by their mothers, I’d tasted the food that their mothers used to prepare, I’d been envious, I’d been jealous, I’d cried and had complained. I’d screamed, starved, I’d fought baseless arguments with father to bring you back. I was another frail warrior, who continued losing battles for getting you, forgetting you.
Festivals, occasions, functions and ceremonies have never fascinated me, and I’ve no clue what impact those would’ve on me with your presence. I have no clue, how life would had even seemed to be, if you were aside. I don’t know how amazed you could had been, on the day when womanhood collided with me. I don’t know if trips to beautiful places could’ve been any more eye-pleasing with your sight included in it. Mom, I didn’t know if I could ever forgive myself for taking your life away for entering into this world. And what greatness did I accure, what did I achieve? A motherless life, Mom. A mere motherless life, with innumerable corners to squeeze in darkness and cry my heart out. Where my birthday and your deathday is attached, inseparably.
And that after all these terrible thoughtful decades, the ones where I lived more in my virtual world, here I’m today, holding a fleshy bundle of life breathing in my arms. Here, I’m holding my baby, and I’m dipped in heavenliness; heaven, also reminding me your death. And I don’t know what to become for this particular day, dear Mom, a mother to her daughter, or a daughter to her mother. I cannot choose between my happiness and yours. Mom, I don’t understand which is the path to be marched, the one towards selfishness, or selflessness. Should I become blind to your misery, or should I jinx these presented pearls of fate? Shouldn’t I be sluiced in this monsoon of happiness that my droughty soul has received for the first time?
But, no, I’ll choose nothing that saddens. Dear Mom, I’ve already realized, giving birth to a child is such a disastrous painfulness to the physical self. Mom, I am no strong, I perhaps couldn’t have survived this. But I did, I did just because of you. I didn’t want another child to be motherless, for I know what the curse tastes like. I’d struggled to pass the turbulence, I’d to swallow all the thunder strikes that wanted to release me from this body, I’d to kill the evil who wanted to consume another child’s jolliness, I did overcome, because I’d to live. I’d to stay, for my daughter. I’d to become a mother. Because maybe, in my era of being a mother, in my motherhood, I could possibly find fragments of you. Because that’s the only last way left with me for meeting you, for getting tints of reflection while I look into myself.
Because I’ve spent sacrificing a lot of time without your warmth, with not a bead of your motherliness, so I have to furl into mine and scrounge for yours.
Mom, I take vows today, to let this dull, tedious life to be relinquished. I won’t ever let the past to pester my present. From today, I let you and me to be stitched into one. And I will never have to miss you again. Bless me, Mom, I willingly step towards this joyful rigmarole.
Bless this Motherless Mother.