Happy Birthday Dowager Dearest

You encroach on my space without so much as a nod to my consent, you intuit I've consent for none. Stepping into my place with a dismissive shrug, passing judgement, invading.

Speaking of which... my mother, Buddha bless her soul, though she's very much alive - my mother used to drink coffee only on cold mornings, and then it was strong local black and sweeter than honey. Ignition fuel to start her cranky engine, her wit called it. The rest of the week, breakfast consisted of Tesco weetbix dipped in cold milk and the juice of oranges and apples offered at the altar, or, if pressed for time, the pulp of one. "It helps keep me regular", she would say in her roundabout way.

She'd inspect my soiled laundry, dusting with her fingertips over my territorial spaces, inhaling my incense wafting from the altar. Remarking at my overcrowding or lack.

She's a beautiful woman, my mother. Always has been. Still is, despite the increasing fragility that comes with aging. She was gorgeous, desirable fodder for men in her youth, I'm living proof ;)

There was a space of some years in which she was lost though. He fought cancer loudly. His sorrow drowned out her voice with a neverending stream of suffering. It was never an easy task to care for a loved-one in pain. She finally lost her soul mate to cancer, that dashing man that once swooned her off her feet at KL's BB Park, and the romantic rides. She was sick for a while, and a fraction of the vibrancy that she had always lived, tending to the needs of her husband, children and grandchildren. I now realise that while I was busy rebelling the sadness too, my life unfolded similarly. I heightened my care for the old and dying, thankfully, but drowned most times in quiet pain just the same.

Speaking of which ... you seem unworried, that you're not sad for me, but I know you better. You seem to understand much of nothing when it came to me but yet your lukewarm inspection of my desperate living told me otherwise; the yearning to care for me still existed, wearing your heart on your sleeve. You dispense with my humanity under the pretense of assistance, infringing on my every quivering cell even though you knew my blood was of strong dark red, not easily succumbing to tough fights in the journey we call life.

I don't eat sweet oranges in the morning. I drink strong, bitter coffee. If I were as beautiful as she, I'd be insufferable. The similarities are clear, ancient talk of apples true, but I saw what she couldn't, a marked and crucial difference, and speaking of which ... of that I never speak.

Yet, despite our different schools of thought, I know you'll always be there for me, a living guardian angel in the truest form.

I salute you for always being in your finest; a wonderful wife, caring mother and doting granny.

Mom, I love you. I'll always do.
Blessed Birthday, and may we enjoy many more years of your endearing elegance and charm.

A mother holds her children's hands for a while.....their hearts forever.

~ Author Unknown

"Walk on a trail of loving kindness
Walk on a path of compassion
And all else around you will be beautiful."
Every Blessing