You know two years ago on this date, I was in the hospital watching you. And you had two episodes. Finally you had to be wheeled in and put on a drip. I went downstairs and sobbed, trying to call someone to pick me up because I didn't have a car. I didn't think I would need one, spending all night in the hospital, seeing in your birthday with you. Not how I planned to see it in, but perhaps, enough of a warning sign.
I carried you with me all through this trip. I saw wind chimes you might have liked or the beginnings of spring flowers. You would have wanted me to call you often and let you know all I was doing. And for you, I would have done it.
Mum, not a day goes by when I don't think of you. Not a day goes by when I don't miss you.
I love you so much and you can never die. Not in my heart. I think of your prawn sambal (you never gave us the recipe), your goreng pisang (I still don't know how to make it), your beef rendang. All of that died with you. I will have to start anew, create my own recipes, my own brand of dishes that no one else can copy. Mum, because of you I can. I have your knack. Some people say I look like you but I always thought that too flattering. Because you were so beautiful.
You had magic in your fingers (all those flowers you grew, all those vegetables, remember what happened when I tried to grow chilli plants? Stunted trees not bearing fruit until I gave up and gave them to you...and then, hundreds and hundreds of giant chillies coming out of the now gigantic plants). Why did we not appreciate all this?
You were beautiful and special and warm and welcoming and so talented.
I love you. I always will.
Happy Birthday.
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