An aged mother lay counting her final breaths in an Indian town.
Miles away, I comforted her son in an Italian town. All day long we had
walked from one airline office to another trying to change our travel plans and
expedite our way to India.
However, when my mother-in-law passed away in the last hours of 2018,
we were not by her bedside. She had said she would wait for us but it was not
to be.
A woman of few words, she fulfilled her karma on earth, and quietly proceeded
onwards. Never did she seek attention or ask for favours. That is the reason
why I have not posted her picture here. She would not have liked it.
My mother-in-law always called me ‘Puta’ – interestingly, in our
dialect of Marathi, it is a term of endearment for a male child.
She was the one who lit a candle at the altar when I wrote my Masters exam.
She was the one who cooked soup for me when I lay ailing in bed.
She was the one who taught me to make cauliflower bhaji using vindaloo
masala.
She was the one who plucked lilies from the garden to offer to Our
Lady.
She is the one who smiles through the eyes of my husband.
She is the one who lives on through my young daughter.
Our mother, Teresa Lemos, has only passed away corporally.
Life has changed, not been taken away.
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| Maple leaf, drifted. Milan, December 2018 |
