Bunda

How much I loved her. How much she meant to me. How grateful I was for all the things, sacrifices and everything she did for me.

How I loved our at-least-5-times-a-week phone conversations and enjoying every minute of them listening to her stories.

How I appreciated her for lending me her shoulders and ears when I was down. How I valued the tips and advices she gave. How much it truly meant for us in helping us coping with having two special children and during our ups and downs.

How happy I was to see the sparkle in Mom’s eyes or the happiness in her voice everytime she was with good news. And just how painful it was for me to see or hear her cry.

I wrote about the unconditional love she gave, and about why she never once raised her voice to me. How I loved her babying her grown-up children and grandchildren. And how I adored her perfections... and imperfections.

I wrote about how great a cook she was. How I loved her face Of how contagious her smiles and laughters were. Of how gentle the words she spoke. Of  how much I loved her that it hurts.

I remember writing how I wanted her to be there forever for me and my family.

I wanted her to be IMMORTAL. And that I know was simply impossible.

That was when I stopped writing the entry. I just couldn’t fathom the thoughts of not having her anymore in our lives. And it felt rather childish, a 43yo wishing her mom to live forever. Get a grip, I told myself. Nothing lasts forever.

Thus I made this post instead.

How I wish I’ve posted the first entry which I’ve deleted. So that she knew how much she meant to me when she read my blog. How much I loved her.Allah please always keep my mom in your arm. I really Love you Mom, sorry for everything...