A letter to mum

 A Letter to Mum

"Those we love don't go away; they walk beside us every day."

I miss you, Mum — more than words can say.

Every single day, you’re in my thoughts and prayers.

When I dream of you, somehow, good things seem to follow. Maybe it’s true what they say — that where you are now, it’s a place of peace, light, and endless love. I hope it’s just as beautiful as we imagine: no pain, no sadness — only joy, and the quiet happiness you always deserved.

I find myself going back often to the early days, when life was simple but full.

The rickshaw rides to school — you bustling around, making sure I was ready: my uniform neat, my shoes polished, my books packed. You would remind me, "Do your homework well," "Have a bath and look clean and tidy," "Don’t be late."

Simple words, but packed with care and belief.

You taught me by your example — to be kind, to mind my words, to respect others.

"Speak no bad words," you said, and you lived it.

Character, you showed me, was far more important than anything else.

Helping with the housework was never an option; it was simply what we did. You believed in hard work and dignity — whether it was sweeping floors, folding laundry, or running small errands. I learned early that no task was beneath us, and no effort was ever wasted.

You worked so hard, Mum.

Sometimes taking up two jobs at once — managing the house, providing for me.

Not too much, never wasteful — but always enough, always just right.

Now I see what a sacrifice that truly was — and how silently you bore it all.

And then the day came when I left home to work in Pune.

Those long-distance phone calls feel so vivid even now — your voice, anxious and loving, cutting through the static.

"Can you hear me?" you would say again and again, until finally we could talk properly.

Each call was a reminder that no matter the distance, you were always with me.

Your visits to Pune, and later to Dubai, were gifts.

You brought the spirit of home with you — the familiar cooking, your laughter, your gentle chiding.

You stepped into my world with such grace, and I could see the pride in your eyes.

You were there at my wedding — radiant, proud, happy for me.

And when my daughters were born, you adored them.

You loved spending time with them — telling them stories, singing to them, gently fussing over their clothes and hair just like you once did for me.

They loved you just as deeply — their Nana, their safe place, their bundle of hugs and laughter.

I still see you with them — holding them close, laughing with them, teaching them little lessons in your soft, patient way.

Those memories are treasures now — precious, irreplaceable.

I remember the last time you left — sitting in a wheelchair at the airport, smiling and waving bravely, even though we both felt the weight of that goodbye.

Then came the fall, the hip injury, and the slow decline that no love or care could stop.

The end came too soon, and too hard.

You were irreplaceable — and you always will be.

But even now, you are with me.

In every act of kindness, in every effort to do better, in every quiet prayer whispered at the end of a long day — you are there.

You gave me a foundation built not on material things, but on love, values, strength, and humility.

I live by it every day.

And through me — and through your granddaughters — your spirit lives on.

You are, and always will be, right here with us.

With all my love, always,

Your son

Michael