What could I have done differently? This is a question that
haunts every person who has lived through an incident that has made them weep.
There are times when I wonder if I loved my mother enough. Did I love her as
much as she deserved? The answer is undoubtedly an emphatic no. I would like to
think she was my first priority before every decision in life; but the truth is
far from it. In a way I feel she made sure she was not my first priority – she
never wanted to be the sole reason for me making a particular decision
affecting my life. I know nothing would have hurt her more than feeling she was
tying me down, little did she know that she is the one who made me believe I
had wings to fly in the first place. What hurts me is not that I did not love
her enough but that she loved me more than I deserved. But I guess a mother’s
love is that way – unconditional and at times unrequited.
I was four and had just begun school. Being the youngest in the
family; school, at the time, was something I was super excited about. I remember hating that
I was too young to begin school while my sisters got to get up early, dress up
and leave with big bags full of books. The excitement quite obviously was short lived. It is hilarious how the grass is always
greener on the other side. As days passed I remember all I had to talk about at
home was my new class teacher, Mrs Nafia. She was really pretty and the nicest
person I had met – she never got angry at me, which was a welcome change I was getting used to. One
day I was telling my sister who is two years older to me how much I loved Mrs
Nafia because she always said nice things about me when my sister asked me a
really tough question. She asked me whether I loved Mrs Nafia more than our
mother. At first I wondered why she would ask me such a question because comparison was not something I was used to doing. After a lot of thought I told her that I did. I still remember the shock,
disbelief and look of contempt on my sister’s face. And then she sat me down
and told me that what I had told her was unacceptable. She told me mothers love us forever but others come and go. She taught me that we are
supposed to love our mother more than anybody else in the world. I remember
asking her why and she replied she did not know but she knew that it was the
right thing to do. It was the right thing to do. It still makes me smile that a six year old taught a four year old this.
Years passed and when I was in junior school my friend and I
decided to pay a visit to kindergarten again. I was thrilled to have the chance
to meet Mrs Nafia again and kept telling my friend about how she was
undoubtedly my favorite teacher of all time. Mrs Nafia did not recognize me.
What hurt me more was that she recognized my friend. Going back home that day
from school I remember thinking to myself how childishly I had proclaimed I
loved her more than my own mother. My eight year old mind was in awe looking at
my mother that day. She dealt with the worst of me and still loved me more than
any other in the world.
No matter whose opinions I heeded more than hers, no matter
whose comfort I prioritized more than hers, no matter how many times I turned a
deaf ear to her needs, I knew she would never dream of doing the same to me. My
priorities were always her priorities, my dreams were her dreams, and my
opinions were the only ones she needed to make a decision. She loved me more
than anyone else in the world – because not doing so was simply unacceptable to her.
I wish I could have been a better person for you Amma. I
wish I loved you more every moment of my life. I wonder if that would have made
a difference. I miss you terribly today and I just wanted you to know, I just
didn't know better. You have taught me to never be tied down by anyone, you
taught me to soar the skies and achieve my dreams. The only way I have now to
show you I love you more than anything else in the world is to remember you
with every success I have and know that your love is the only reason I am here
today. And there is nothing more true than that. I love you, Amma - forever.
