Why I love my mother

My mother has passed away 11 years ago. Now that I am a father of two grown-up children, I am getting a better perspective of being a parent myself.
On looking back and thinking about my mum who had long completed her journey on earth, I think of all those unspoken and often forgotten things she had done for me while she was alive.

I am reminded of the times when I would have my hair washed by her in the kitchen sink because she felt my hair was long overdue for a thorough rinsing. She would dip my hair and gave my little head a complete scrubbing.

I remember those days when I was in university and was home for holiday when she would dip into her purse to give me a few extra dollars so that I could go out and have a good time.
What made that motherly deed extra special was the knowledge that she didn't have much to get by herself, and yet like all great mothers, she willing sacrifice her financial portion so that I could have a few good moments myself.

I recall those nights when I was still a pre-teen when I was ill and was moaning and groaning like all overgrown babies. She would apply ointment onto the affected parts of my body and lulled me to sleep with her soft voice, singing a ballad that was foreign to my ears.

I think fondly of those evenings when my mother would cook my favourite dishes because she knew I was home from college and would love them. There was no other reason than the fact that she just knew the dishes were my favourite.

I remember most vividly those nights when she went down on her knees to pray for me because she knew I was taking my exam the next day. She knelt down and prayed everyday of her life so that for the rest of my life, I will have easier days than hers.

And when I lamented the lack of transportation in my campus life, she forked out a significant portion of her savings to buy me a bike so that my mobility would improve by two quantum leaps.

I now realise with much love that in my growing years, she had never really scolded me because I was one of her favourites in the family. I don't remember doing anything special for her but every mother knows her boy because she had given birth to me and saw me till her last breath on deathbed.

It is with much nostalgia, I think back of the times when she held my little hands as we walked across the busy streets of my hometown and how she would softly sing praises of behind my back to our neighbours.

All of us have mothers. Very few of us ever hated our mothers. As with the others, I too love my mother with an intensity that only a good son will understand and feel. Now whenever, I see a mother fawning over her children, I think back of my own mother who had long left this plane of existence.

I think of the opportunities I had to please her and of the lost opportunities that I had not taken up to make her life a little happier.

Mothers were given to us all for a reason, just as we came into their lives for a reason. It is a dual carriageway of human relationship that would only be beneficial if we know how to travel on it.

I hope I have not been reckless on that highway which my mother and I had travelled on. It is with some consolation that I know I have done my best as a son. And I know that my mother had done her best and her best is good enough for me.