For a long time, I barely talked about my late mum. She passed away when I was 4 years old. Looking back, it was some sort of denial. An assumption that my life went on and I turned out okay despite her death. Not talking about her gave me the sense that I was a normal child who did not lose his mother. If I avoided confronting the tragedy of her death, perhaps I would continue to live a normal life. But grief is stubborn. And a few years ago, it came rushing in and I was consumed by great sadness. Her loss and what it meant to my life hit me so hard and I could no longer ignore it. It is like all the grief I had repressed for over 20 years caved in on me all at once. I felt like my whole world fell apart and there was no where I could call home. I was lost and felt I belonged nowhere, and to no one. An intense loneliness filled my heart.

While this period of grief was paralyzing, it also allowed me to start healing from her loss. For a large part of my life, there is a sadness that I could never seem to shake off. No matter how well my life was going, I would fall back to this sadness eventually. And when all this grief came crushing in, it finally made sense why I had always felt a sadness stalking me. It is from my healing journey from her loss that I finally allowed myself to talk about her. To acknowledge, sincerely, that she was my mum, that I lost her, and my world had never been the same after her death. I finally gave in to the longing in my heart for her love and comfort. It was heart-breaking to accept that I missed her, knowing fully that I would never get to experience her physically in this realm, yet important because it allowed my heart to feel. It opened up my heart and while I felt incredibly sad, I also created space for love. Her love.

I never anticipated that allowing my mum’s love into my heart could be painful. My heart and whole body had become so wounded and accustomed to the sadness that each time I would think of my mum, it resisted. Each time, I would feel an overwhelming intensity that set off all alarms alerting me to back off. It was like a dam’s wall breaking and a multitude of emotions would rush in. But I kept trying. I kept visualizing her in my life, through the resistance until I collapsed, gave in to the rush of emotions and allowed myself to break down and cry. And it is in the collapse that I freed myself, unchained my heart and lost the fear that her love was a threat. During this time, I started writing to her, telling her all the things I wished I would have may years ago. I wrote, and wrote, and wrote until the love, the connection, the belonging, was greater than the sadness.

This year, on Mother’s Day (10th May), I gathered enough courage to commemorate her and wish her Happy Mother’s day. I could not be more proud of myself because this would have been unfathomable a time like this last year. Publicly wishing her Mother’s Day was both for her, and myself. For her, to express gratitude to her for bringing me to this world and for the time I spent with her. And for myself, as an act of acceptance – of her but also of myself. Because I learnt that in denying her death, I also denied her presence, and by extension, parts of her that I carry in me that lay in waiting for the time when I would finally realize that I always belonged. To her, and to many others who came before me. That I always had a home and was never alone.