We sat in my room, enveloped in the aroma that emanated from our mugs of steaming hot green tea, doing some catching up. Our dose of heart to heart conversations was over six months overdue. I was home for a day, and I was afraid the hours were just not long enough. True, we spoke over the phone everyday; I pinged her by the hour, and sent her close to fifty text messages a day. But none of those could provide me the warmth of her touch as she held my hand, and as long as I just called, texted, or pinged her, my daily migraine pestered me, for she couldn’t massage my head over the phone or the computer. So, while we knew of each other’s experiences, we had not dissected them. As we discussed my brother’s apathy towards his upcoming exams, her latest adventure in the kitchen, my latest project and my boyfriend troubles, I leaned back into my bed and wondered, “She was always my mother, but when did she become my best friend?”
As far back as I can recollect mom has been the first one I had run to with every tear, and every joy. When I first hit a guy in school and when the same guy asked me out a couple of years later, my mom had been my confidant; my friend, philosopher and guide in the true sense of the term. When I first broke a tooth and when I made a new friend, she has always been there for me. Whether it was to teach by example, or to silently support be from behind the stage, mom has never judged me; she let me set my own expectations. She was proud of me when I surpassed those, and encourage me to improve when I fell short. She is the best listener I know and a mind reader too. She instinctively knew when I was asking her for advice, and when I just needed her shoulder to cry on. She multiplied my joys with her enthusiasm, and divided my frustrations with her empathy and good advice.
And so when she had her hysterectomy, I told her it was
okay, she’d be fine; just like she had calmed me down every time I went through
PMS. When grandma passed away, it was
from mom’s lessons to me that I found the wisdom to let her cry. She always
told me, tears were not a sign of weakness, they were a stress buster.
It was then that I realised, she had always been my best
friend. She had given me her heart in its entirety, right from day one. It was
her soul that she divulged to me in instalments, as and when she realized I was
ready.
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