Today marks four years since my mother passed away. As I performed “Shraddha,” it brought back memories of her. The world lost an extraordinary woman. A woman of substance and grace, a symbol of unlimited love and unending endurance. Her leaving left a gap in my life that reverberates throughout my days, reflecting the tremendous loss of her presence. She was more than simply my mother; she was my guiding light, source of wisdom, and biggest supporter. She was my pillar.
My mother hailed from Varanasi, India and agreed to marry my father, a Nepali, who was there for his studies. She embraced Nepali culture and language with open arms and raised her children to be proud of their mixed heritage. Her love and dedication to her family knew no bounds, and she worked tirelessly to ensure we had everything we needed. Her passing was devastating, but her legacy lives on through the values she instilled in us. Today, as I remember her, I am grateful for our time together and the lessons she taught me.
My mother was more than a parent; she was a living thing that exuded warmth and devotion. She became a beloved aunt to many, unselfishly raised in her home. Her smile was reassuring, her voice was calming, and her love was limitless. Her laugh was contagious, and her energy was uplifting. She was an avid gardener, and her garden was mentioned in “Global Girlfriends.” She was a lighthouse in the storm, guiding us safely to shore. Her love was our refuge, and her wisdom was our guide.
My sister and her family lovingly cared for her in her final years as her health deteriorated. They became her rock, matching the love and dedication she’d shown us her entire life. Their unselfish care and dedication showed our mother’s love for us.
They say that grief is the cost of love. If that’s the case, the void I’m experiencing is a witness to the intensity of my love for her. It’s a void that can’t be filled, but it teaches us to grow around it, absorb it, and accept it as a part of us.
I believe that grieving is a personal process that, like waves, comes and goes. There are days when the grief seems overwhelming, and there are others when happy memories soothe the hurting heart. It’s a journey of discovering and accepting that it’s okay to experience grief, acknowledge the loss, and cry. It’s a voyage of acceptance of the brutal fact of mortality while finding solace in the eternity of love and memories.
Though she is not with us anymore, I sense her spirit around me daily. I see her in a stranger’s smile, hear her in my sister’s laughter, feel her in the sun’s warmth, and locate her in the pages of the books she loved. Her spirit is sewn into the fabric of my existence, and her love is the thread that connects it all.
Today, on the fourth anniversary of her death, I remember her with appreciation and love rather than deep sadness. I recall her courage, strength, love, and knowledge. I recall her lessons, the ideals she instilled, and the love she shared.
Four years later, the gap remains, but it is no longer a pit of despair. Instead, it’s a loving sanctuary where I cherish my most precious memories of her. It’s a place where she lives — through me, my sister, her grandchildren, and the numerous people she influenced.
As I walk through the grief process, I realize it’s not about “moving on” or “getting over” the loss. It’s about remembering the love, cherishing the memories, and passing on the legacy of someone who meant a lot to us. It’s about turning suffering into strength, loss into love, and grief into growth. My only regret is that I could never satisfactorily convince her identity that she was more Nepali than any other born in Nepal (as an Indian married to a Nepali citizen, she was treated as a second-class citizen). The struggle that I have been fighting.
So, here’s to my mom, who taught me how to love, live, and grow. Let us celebrate her life, her love, and her legacy.
Thinking Out Loud 
Thank you for sharing the poignant tribute. A lot of the sentiments you expressed resonated with me as I process the grief of losing my father 5 years ago. “Those we love don’t go away – they walk beside us everyday, unseen, unheard, but always near, still loved, still missed and very dear.”
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