It is long I have struggled with the relationship with my mother.
A connection never lost, since we were separated, when our ways parted in Mumbai, India.
However the connection got lost somehow.
Due to space, time and the way of living.
Not by circumstance.
It is the reconnection of her presence. To understand her passing.
To grieve a loss that is part of life.
We all loose someone that is dear to our heart.
But it makes me wonder, what it is that makes it special.
This reconnection with my mother.
Perhaps to understand that she is my mother.
An answer I needed to find for myself.
A journey in itself.
However I have taken easier roads.
But I can’t say specific what it is that made her a mother.
It wasn’t that she did or said some things.
That I believe that it is something better than other mothers.
But what I know and remember is that she never shed a tear, although I saw her cry many times.
Of course I was still a little child.
But it wasn’t my imagination nor that I thought something different.
It is that I see the truth with my eyes.
And love isn’t blind.
But she was surely no saint.
I believe it is part of life that things don’t always go right.
Whatever she was doing, it just always made sense.
And no matter what happened, it is this what I remember.
Just with her presence, it made her my mother.
But how is this connected with my love journey in general?
Just a question I am asking.
Although it is an expression of my love for my mother, it is also an expression of the love for myself.
Because it is her genes that are still alive.
An awareness, of that it is something that I carry.
Not something spiritual, but a root of reality.
A foundation connected to my family.
Or better to say an expression of the love for my mother.
To understand that love never dies, although the vessel it was carried in, does.
With this acceptance of that she is my mother.
That I am now open to love.