It seems like yesterday when I spoke to my mum. But today it’s been a year since we last spoke.

Every morning at seven, we’d make that call while she walked outside her house. We spoke of many things- important and not so important. We spoke of things that happened long ago, of people whom we loved and hated and who sadly are no more.

We made plans to visit far-off places, exchanged recipes, anecdotes that made us laugh and shared our grievances and sorrows.

She was my therapist, my go-to person for times when I was lost.

But she also got my goat at times and made me feel so bad, so useless, so unworthy and so sad.

Yet, I spoke to her almost every day because most times I’d feel happy that we had connected.

My children called me weird and said

I should never have left her side if I couldn’t bear to be away from her.

But how do I explain to them that talking to her didn’t mean I loved them any less, and visiting her didn’t mean I wanted to run away from them.

They are my children, like I was hers, that no one can deny.

How do I explain to them, that when I look into the mirror and smile, I see her smile back at me? I see her wrinkled hands in mine,

When I smear my face with magic lotions or smack my lips together to set the lipstick, when I preen in all my finery, I see her look of pride.

I can’t forget the times we shared, memories of baking cakes and decorating them with icing stars Or coming home from school and finding a new handstitched dress with flounces, bows and ribbons.

When I say something illogical like eat your beans they’ll make you tall, I kick myself for spouting out her homilies.

She loved to argue and to talk and be the sun in every room.

But she also worked like a dog and could chase away all gloom. Her lovely smile and positive attitude, her zest for life, helped overcome all difficulties great and small.

Last year she developed a brain tumour and decided to let things be. Like a river, she wanted to flow and enjoy the days that were meant to be.

Day by day, her strength diminished, yet her spirit did remained strong. She woke up every morning with the conviction that it was going to be the best day of her life.

When friends and family came to visit, she would be chattering away. At times she spoke a load of rubbish, her head muddled up with thoughts. But when her mind was very lucid, she shocked me with her memory.

I miss you mum. It’s been one whole year since I spoke to you. And soon it will be two, three and more.

And then one day, you’ll call my name and speak to me like your mother did to you last year.

Ciao,