sixty eight.

Dear UM,

Today, you would have been sixty eight.

You know, you always used to say that you and Dadadad wanted to create a dynasty.

By dynasty, you meant that you wanted a family that was loud, boisterous, opinionated, crowded and loving. You adored the fact that our friends always thought of our house as their second home, and never once did you turn anyone away at the door.

I saw some of my high school girlfriends a few weeks ago. It jarred me a little – were you still alive, you’d have loved this swarming of friends, laughter and community that has been with us for so many years. Just this weekend, we had a lovely dinner and then a concert. At every point, my brain kept thinking “mum would’ve fit here” or “dad and mum would’ve loved this”.

In truth, I realise it’s my own feeling of alleged “orphanhood” that brings those thoughts to the surface. Those thoughts can lead my brain down a mental abyss, and I end up berating myself for the million things I wish I had done with you, if we’d had more time. And then something ticks over in my head. I know it’s something that you gave to me – a sense of self-preservation and kicking my own butt. Note – I do get this specifically from you. That “I will kick my butt myself” sense, tells me that you felt the same way at one point. You would sometimes say that, when we were kids, you’d feel guilty because you had to work, or were busy saving the world or something. But that you regretted nothing because you knew that your love for us, and the world at large, was reflected in everything you  did.

In exactly the same way – I no longer regret my “orphanhood”. I’ve come to realise that it’s part of who I am and I am okay with it. If I had the opportunity to turn back time and still have you and Dad, I would, but I have come to terms with the notion that life knows what it’s doing. Even when I do not understand it at all, or feel bereft because of it.

You were right, you know. I see so very much of you in myself now. The woman who talks to herself while she does the dishes. The person who prefers to keep their words coming, rather than zipping her lip. I feel lighter when I’ve spoken my truth, and it was you and dad who taught us all, that speaking your truth is the ONLY option.

You’ve got your dynasty now. There are many, many beautiful, clever little girls with ballet dancer dreams and princess fantasies. They’re clever and funny and not afraid. There is noise, craziness, worry and an abundance of love.

I say worry with a glint in my eye. It’s a pretty much our-family-phenomenon – to worry, together. I laugh, you know, still, whenever an emergency strikes, the very first thing I think of is – What should we eat? That’s so you it’s alarming…:)

I go through these weird phases, where I’m totally fine. And others where I just pine for you and Dad. The other day, I was walking through the house taking the laundry down, and ALL I wanted, desperately, was to show you and Dad my life now. The home I have that I share with the two loves of my life. How I am loved. How I love.

Your love is one to which I will always aspire. Enduring, infinite and sans boundary. Dad used to say that when you love someone, when they’re family  – you can fight with them and in the morning, they’d still smell like honey to you. It’s true, you know. I have a little triangle of love that smells like honey every morning. My only wish is that you could come over for dinner and I could show it to you, up close, and let you soak it in too.

Mama, I wish you a happy birthday. Throw a party. Do the grasshopper with Dad. Cook a million pots of breyani. Clink glasses. Throw your hand over your head and wave your ciggie around in the air (I confess – I catch myself doing it too!). Solve the world’s problems. Love every part of your family. Have fun. Celebrate.

I will squeeze my darling little family a little bit tighter tonight, just for you. X