When someone you truly, deeply love passes on, the gushing memories built over the years make the initial days, and months so inextricably difficult. Every small detail, a smell, a sighting, a song triggers you into missing them. Wherever you look, you remember how you spent time with them, how the daily rituals were your thing, how occasions were celebrated, how even the smallest moment was so special.

And the years start piling up. Grief changes shape, but still remains, sometimes giving the illusion that we may be doing better, and sometimes it hits like a ton of bricks. There are moments I catch some fears making their presence felt, “I hope I don’t lose the hold on these memories as I age.” A thin yet menacingly impenetrable layer of dust starts accumulating on those tiny details which were so a part of you. And you fight to hold on.

“Everyday is Mother’s Day,” I would tell Mom, even though we would have a special ritual of going for a Sunday brunch as a family every weekend. But I would fuss over her a bit extra that day, writing a post, taking pictures, archiving them for later, so that I could look back on them and smile, and be grateful for having had the good fortune of being her daughter.

Today, her absence obviously caused an ache to my heart, especially since I am also reeling from another bout of flu. She would have done her bit to nurse me back to health: home remedies, ensuring I had eaten, or just to check in to see how I was doing.

When a chance allowed, later in the day, I went out to get a breath of fresh air, and I saw groups of people all around, daughters and mothers shopping together, generations of a family having a meal together, and some of us, grieving the loss of our mother, and remembering them by sipping on a cup of tea, their favorite beverage.

So, if I had to face my irrational fear of aging taking over and the memories getting lost in the passage of time, today was the day. Even though her scent fades from her sarees I still wear, her lilting voice not calling out to us now, there are so many ways she is etched, indelibly on my heart.

My awareness shifted to the several ways in which Mom lives on, eternally, and the universe often reminding me of her continuing love and presence.

- Through the love of my sisters and the wisdom of my father. In the most difficult times, they have pointed me in the direction that Mom would have wanted me to take. And yet, they worry silently like her, but show an exterior of strength

- In the wondrous realm of nature, amidst the lush green trees and beautiful landscapes of Kerala, where I went for a health retreat. I would do a walking meditation for 30 minutes twice a day, and would walk by a large tree, with the most beautiful purple flowers, whose canopy of leaves was so spread out that even in the scorching sun, there would be a calming freshness beneath the shade. I would invariably stand still below the tree, close my eyes, feel the breeze, and the stillness within. A smile would creep up, and I would often say, this is how I would feel in Mom’s presence. Protected, safe, calm, happy, and strong.

In this context, these lines from the old Yesudas song, to me, are the embodiment of Mom:

"मधुबन खुशबू देता है / The garden shares its fragrance

सागर सावन देता है / The ocean gives us the life-giving monsoon

जीना उसका जीना है, जो औरों को जीवन देता है/ A life worth living is one that makes others feel alive

सूरज न बन पाए तो, बन के दीपक जलता चल / If you cannot be the sun, live like a light-giving lamp..."

फूल मिले या अंगारे, सच की राहों पे चलता चल / Whether on a path strewn with flowers or hot coals, keep treading the path of truth...

This song was written for our tribe…

I was reading a book which talked about the healing effect of being out in nature. How when you are gazing at the beauty of nature in awe, be it in the mountains of Ladakh under a clear, star studded sky, or the sunrise in Kanyakumari, or in a forest in Kerala, you are periodically being nudged out of yourself to think about connectedness to something bigger than you. People who are open to such experiences are cognitively wired to grow and learn and move on, and do something that feels transformative, enabling them to transcend life’s struggles and change our self-image. I finally knew what the author meant, because I was experiencing it every moment that I was outside, awe struck. And could also resonate with the Eskimo legend, “Perhaps they are not stars in the sky, but rather openings where our loved ones shine down to let us know they are happy.”

- Mom, as the President of the Residents Welfare Association, had put signages with uplifting quotes on them. The one I pass by every morning that I go for a run says, “Always remember, today is going to be a great day.” I could hear it in her voice

- I am known to be the recluse in our neighborhood. But on that chance meeting with someone on the road, if they get to know where I live, I am often met with, “You are Mrs. Parashar’s daughter!!! Such a lovely woman she was. We miss her so much.” Even after 5 ½ years. I walk back home with a smile because I can just see Mom laughing and chatting with everyone around. And continuing to do all the wonderful work for the residents that she was known for.

- When Vatsala (Mom’s namesake) wished me “Happy Mother’s Day, Daadi,” I am reminded of how Shaurya and Mona have ensured that there will always be a mini-Mom prancing around me, who is as funky, fiery, chirpy, and happy as Mom was.

- When I close my eyes and ask her about important decisions in life, and I still feel her wisdom showering down on me. The step I take then is resolute, firm, unshaken. Even if it is my heart and mind’s imagination, at least I feel the strength coursing through my veins. I know I just need to follow my Mom’s ingrained-over-the-years-wisdom, my North Star.

- The commitment to work I bring every day, inculcated by Mom, to do seva, be there for others, to speak every word with kindness, and to show integrity every moment, every step of the way.

- In being there for family and friends, even though there may be times I may have faltered on that in the past year, but to somehow find my way back to them, to provide and seek comfort and solace, and to grow some roots so that soon, collectively, we grow akin to that tree in Kerala, the Neermathalan.

I was jolted out of my thoughts when the laughter of the family next to me rang in my ears. I smiled, feeling happy for them, acutely aware that in the shifting sands of time, I was once in their place, with lightness in my being, cherishing the moment, feeling the bonds of family wrap themselves around me, and yet, things were so similar and yet so confusingly different at the same time.

I came back home, and a package was waiting for me. It was from Jassi, my boy. I opened the contents, and shed a few happy tears. He knew just how to strike a chord. We were united in grief today, as we both missed our moms, and yet, here was the most precious Mother’s Day message from him. He had sensed my fears across the silence and the distance. Or maybe these fears of losing a loved one’s memories even, had haunted him way before they had begun for me.

“Happy Mother’s Day…Well, Whom am I kidding. It is tough to be really happy on this day. However, we can always cherish the happy memories

I know aunty liked maintaining her garden, so perhaps this activity will be a nice way to remember her…”

Jassi, in his own way reminded me that every moment of being alive is a way to remember her, to honor her, to cherish her. Because it is a soul connection that will always carry me through a lifetime of smiles and tears, connected by heartstrings into infinity...