When I was small my mother read me a story, ‘The Giving Tree’. It was about a tree that gave a little boy his apples to eat, branches to climb and shade to sleep under. This made them both happy. As the boy grew into a man, the tree gave him her apples to sell money, then her branches to build a house, and finally her trunk to make a boat. When the boy became a tired old man, the tree, by now nothing but a stump, offered him all she had left to sit on and rest. I asked my mother…Is every tree a mother? Amazed, she looked at me and asked why? I told her that’s what you do every day. You give me food, you take care of me, you sleep after I sleep, you give me your bite if I ask you for it. You go for your shopping and end up buying stuff for me, you give me everything even before I ask for it and you are happy in everything I do.
These are memories… memories of my mother…
Every time I write a piece about missing my mother I always think afterwards, what’s next?’ And then a couple of months later I seem to always find myself back in front of this computer screen, writing about it again, somehow trying to make sense of the fact that she is no longer around.
At those times when you need to be mothered. Cosseted. Minded. Like only a mother can. You need the person who will instinctively care for you beside you then. Because That Is What Mothers Do. And the absence of that figure, that support, that emotional crutch in times of difficulty, that is when you grieve. That is when you feel what you are missing. That is when it hurts on an entirely different level which a paracetamol cannot cure.
Mothers are always with us. Just in different ways.
Truly said ‘God could not be everywhere so he made Mothers’
By: – RITIKA LOGANI
Counselor, MRIS-51, Gurugram