Mothers and daughters
My mom recently celebrated her 59th birthday. For me it was more about her birthday, and less about her age.
To me she is the eternal, evergreen, enthusiastic woman, never ageing in mind, body and spirit. And she always will be.
Mom's getting older
Recently, she called me after a seemingly innocent eye check-up. She now needs to be operated for a cataract in her left eye.
She seemed cheerful, almost as though she didn't want me to feel stressed or worried. She kept saying how it was nothing, just a 10 minute surgery.
I hung up the phone and sat on my bed for a while, with my son watching his favourite cartoon show in the background. And it dawned on me. Was my mom growing old?
Still my superhero
My superhero, my inspiration, my supermom, was 59. And I hadn't realized it till now. Could I be so blind? Or insensitive?
It dawned on me that I still saw her as I did when I was 10 or 12 years old. She still gave me the same strength; still did more for me than I did for her, still put the entire family before everything else.
How many times had I heard her say, 'Yes, from now on I am going to take care of myself,' and yet at the next moment she would be stretching herself for one of us, putting herself last.
Being human
We all see our parents as superheroes, always having the solution to our problems, swooping in to save us when we are in trouble. And yet, only when age starts catching up with them, do we realize that superheroes are human too, and we start noticing the chinks in their armour.
I know that I will forget after a few days, that she had a cataract operation, because knowing her, she will bounce back to her iconic superhero status in no time. She will be go back to her old enthusiasm and vigour.
Yet I know that beneath the surface, she is just a woman going through the normal ageing process. And then my son comes up to me crying and says, "Mama I got hurt, make it go away please!" I kiss his knee and his face lights up magically. "Wow mama it's gone away!"
Who ran to pick me up when I fell,
Who kised all my wounds, and always had a story to tell?
My mother.
Who ran to help her when she fell,
Many a times, she rose on her own,
Always smiling never a frown
Today I walk with her;
A mother too,
There to help her if she falls,
And then I realize,
A mother has grown old, a daughter has come of age.
Now two mothers walk hand-in-hand
Mirrors of each others souls....
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