I wasn't always the best kid.
I broke her heart when I tried to die. And during my teen anorexic years, I wielded a sort of malicious power over her at mealtimes. But both those things were over a period of 3-4 late teen years and outside of that--to her, I seemed the best kid.
Every thing about me--my grades, my stories, my smiles, my book recs, my kids, my home, every award, every publication, every tiny hair tweak, every plant hack... every stupid thing brought her so much joy... as she never tired of telling me.
I'm glad we went for a long visit recently, and that we got to see her this summer, I'm glad I got to take her to all the places she wanted to go to, made her fabulous meals and very simple ones (the last thing I made her was the Parsi omelette sandwich we ate at picnic style at the Detroit airport), made sure the kids cleared their calendars and spent enough time with us, did the professional family photo shoot she wanted, sang all the songs she wanted me to sing to her, took her shopping at all the discount places she loved.
I let all the small things go. Her main parenting rule was that she would love me no matter what. And in the last twenty years, that became my reciprocal rule as well. I stopped trying to convince her about things that were important to me... she had her own list of things that were important to her (mostly At, Nu, my sister, and me). And things got real easy after that. So... despite the pain, at least there's peace in knowing I don't wish I had done anything differently.
The day before*, she wished me for my Boss Day, then we talked for a bit. Our last words were:
"Love you, Kanna"
"Love you, Amma"
No... No regrets... If I had known those were to be our final words, I would not have changed them.
But I would have changed the time. My grandmother and great-grandmother lived into their nineties and I expected my mom would too...
Pic: I recognize my lovely mom. The gremlin in her lap is supposedly me.
* It was the 6th in Bangalore, but it was still the 5th when I got the call. I keep replaying the words I heard my sister say through her sobs ("Akka, Amma passed away this morning") in my head as if they'll make sense this time.
5 comments:
What a wonderful thing to be able to say--No Regrets. So many are not so fortunate. And your last words to each other were of love. A gift, to be sure.
Isn't it comforting to know these things, and to know that you are continuing her legacy on an even larger stage? You're modeling her kindness, wisdom, and love for dozens and dozens each year in classes and groups, and who knows how many online here. It's another tribute to her.
I'm glad there are almost no regrets.
The beginning of this, when you tried to die, and when you had anorexia. UGH. My Maya had anorexia too, though I didn’t write about it on my blog, and it almost killed all of us. What helped (the therapist’s idea) was to think of it as something that was trying to kill her, and that we ALL had to fight it. So I could be enraged at the monster trying to kill my child, and find all of the grace and strength I need to fight it, and to feed her back to health. It is the hardest thing I’ve ever been through, and it gave me strength. We are perhaps too close now because of it. Or perhaps just the right amount of close.
<3 I have been thinking of you, and how glad I am that you had your visit when she was here. And that you did the things she wanted to do. And said the words that you said.
Maya, I am horribly behind in my reading and I have missed this devastating news about your mom. I'm so sorry she's gone. What a beautiful tribute to her and to your relationship -- complicated and wonderful, hand in hand. Thinking of you and your family as you grieve. xxoo
Letting the little things go - yes. This is also what I'm working on. I want to also have no regrets.
I thought how wonderful it was that she and your sister came for that last visit. Such a long trip but what a gift.
Also - lol, gremlin. You're adorable!
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