This is for You maa!

Okay, Mom, this is for you. I tried to capture a little bit of everything you mean to me.

The house was always filled with the scent of you. Sometimes it was the faint, sweet perfume you’d dab on your wrists, other times the comforting aroma of something baking – your famous apple crumble, or those chocolate chip cookies that never lasted more than a day. But mostly, it was just… you. The unique, irreplaceable scent of home, of safety, of unconditional love.

I remember being small, maybe five or six, and waking up from a particularly vivid nightmare. The shadows in my room felt like monsters, and every creak of the old house sounded like a footstep. I was paralyzed with fear, my heart thumping like a trapped bird. Finally, I managed a choked whisper, "Mommy?"

It felt like an eternity, but then I heard it – the soft padding of your feet down the hallway, a sound more reassuring than any lullaby. You didn't just flick on the main light and tell me to go back to sleep. You sat on the edge of my bed, the gentle glow from the hallway lamp outlining your silhouette, and you asked me, in that quiet, patient voice, "What's wrong, sweetie?"

I babbled about the dream, the monsters, the fear. And you listened. You really listened. You didn't laugh, you didn't dismiss it. You smoothed my hair back from my damp forehead, your touch cool and calming. Then you told me a silly story about how you used to be scared of the clothes draped over your chair at night, thinking it was a hunched-over old man. You made me giggle, the fear slowly receding like a tide. You stayed with me, humming softly, until my breathing evened out and the monsters retreated, banished by the simple, powerful magic of your presence.

That's just one memory, a tiny snapshot in the vast album of my childhood, but it holds so much of what you are. You were, and are, my safe harbor. Through scraped knees that you’d kiss with such conviction I truly believed your kisses had healing powers, through teenage heartbreaks where your hugs were the only solace, through adult anxieties where your calm perspective could always cut through the noise.

You taught me to be strong, not by being hard, but by showing me the strength in softness, in empathy, in perseverance. You taught me to be kind, not by lecturing, but by living it, by extending your warmth to everyone you met. You sacrificed so much, often quietly, without fanfare, putting our needs, my needs, before your own. I see that now, with the clarity of adulthood, and my heart swells with a gratitude so immense it's hard to articulate.

You are the anchor in my storms, the sunbeam on my cloudy days, the unwavering belief that I could achieve anything I set my mind to. You didn't just give me life, Mom; you taught me how to live it, with courage, with compassion, and with a heart open to joy.

Thank you. For everything. For being you.

And here's a little something I tried to write, just for you:

My Guiding Light

A hand to hold when paths were new,

A gentle voice to see me through.

From childhood fears in darkest night,

You were my calm, my steady light.

The quiet strength you always showed,

The seeds of kindness that you sowed.

The patient lessons, softly taught,

The loving battles that you fought (for me).

Each sacrifice, a golden thread,

The loving words you gently said,

Woven in the heart of me,

Your love's a vibrant tapestry.

So thank you, Mom, for all you are,

My nearest, dearest, shining star.

This simple verse, for you to see,

My love for you, eternally.