Ancestral Home
I just got back attending my mom’s final rites after her sudden demise a month ago. I stayed at the house where my mom lived her entire life: from her birth to death. The house whose walls tell lots of tales, the kitchen where the aromas of food drift and the front portal facing the garden where we gather at night to share our days, gossip and our worries. It was heaven in every sense when we were growing up. The safety of those walls can never be felt anywhere in the world with all the security systems in place. I always felt a sense of calm and so much at peace whenever I returned. I feel the loss is monumental, and the void will never be replaced. For a baby, mom is the first smell ; first touch , first taste and the first peace you make with the world. She is also the first teacher but also forever guiding light . I could make silly jokes at her expense, argue and cry like a toddler but the moment I put my arms around her shoulders ...