Mother-musings

 Mamma,

I always thought 

I was more like Papa 

and Anju was more you.

Then, that day in Lucknow, 

I held my hand flat against yours 

too-thinned

age-withered 

soft-brittle

I was shocked to see that they matched

so exactly. 

The palms

the fingers

the dividers on the fingers

all matched perfectly

line by line.

There's so much more that is you in me

Your thin skin, both literal and otherwise

Your veins and arteries interlace so visibly just underneath the surface of my arms

Your thick red danger signal appears on my forehead when I am emotionally charged

Your thick, luxurious long hair that you never cut, and I never let grow

Your eyebrows, your long limbs, your gait, 

Your affinity with words, your love for traveling, 

Your visceral desire to climb things that reach up to the sky...

I hope I also got

your doggedness, your generosity, your ability to hold your own

your magic ways of making anywhere home

your self-sufficiency, your resilience, your happiness in yourself

your eye for detail, your need for perfection

your ability to recycle and use everything in many different ways

and never let anything die...

Mamma,

in you I see

myself

my past

my now

my future

I look at myself now and see the woman you were

I look at you and see who I will become

As long as you are here

I know where I am going.

When Papa went, 

I mourned him. 

I missed him. 

I wished he was here.

But I know 

when you go

I will become lost

untethered 

from that invisible umbilical tug

that makes me you 

and makes you me