Fourth Mother’s Day Without You: Lessons From My First and Forever Teacher

Fourth Mother’s Day Without You:

Lessons From My First and Forever Teacher

A teacher’s greatest legacy is not just what you taught but how your student

learns to see the world, because of you, I see it with more love

more fragility, and more courage than I ever thought possible

Happy Mother's Day, My Darling Mum

Ma, this is the fourth Mother’s Day without you, four times now, this particular Sunday arrives without your cheerful voice, without your infectious smile, without the simple joy of choosing a gift just for you, but it is a day that has rolled around with an empty chair, with a steady and unmistakable ache, with a complex tide of memory, love, and grief, the Mother’s Day continues to exist in the world as something celebratory of mothers, while I mark the day quietly, carrying your excruciating absence alongside my love for you, with a broken heart that has learned to beat to a new, more complicated rhythm, the card I subconsciously pick up for you has no address to send it to, or the flowers I buy are for a vase by your photo, a painful reminder of how profoundly life has changed since you left

 

Ma, before Mother’s Day meant you, the remarkable lady who was my first teacher, but now, specially today, I long for the simplicity of celebrating you when you were here, when loving you did not involve loss, when the day felt complete rather than fractured, and I miss a version of this big day that did not require so much emotional endurance, but here is the breathtaking truth I have learned - you are still my teacher, this fourth Mother’s Day reminds me that your teaching never stopped, and it makes me acutely aware of how much I am still learning from you, even in the aching silence of your absence, I am learning how to mother myself in ways you once did so effortlessly, how to comfort the parts of me that still reach for you, and how to make decisions without your reassurance

 

Ma, losing you so suddenly and unexpectedly changed the nature of your teaching and the lesson, but it did not end it, overnight, I was forced into a life I had never trained for, one where I had to survive the unimaginable reality of living without you, then came the lesson I never signed up for, one delivered in the shocking, brutal syllabus, as your abrupt absence was a cataclysm that shattered the textbook of my life, so much so that, it became its own curriculum, there was no time to prepare, no gentle easing into goodbye, in an instant, the student was left alone, in a silent classroom, with no teacher, no clear sense of progress, and no instructions for the final, hardest exam of all - how to live with an ache, that once felt unsurvivable, and somehow, I know you are guiding me through it

 

Ma, people say the first word one learns is “Ma”, but you were so much more than that name, you were my first everything, as you were the first hands that held me, the first voice that sang me calm, the first eyes that reflected my worth, long before I learned how to read or write, before classrooms, before the world made its demands, before I understood what a teacher was, I was already learning from you, my first smile mirrored yours, my first steps were taken toward your open arms, my first lessons were not in letters or numbers, but in decency, compassion, and love, I thought the lessons were finished, after your devastating loss, but what I did not know then was that you were quietly writing a lifelong syllabus in the margins of our everyday life, and even now, you are still teaching me

 

Ma, you were my very first teacher, you taught me through presence, actions, and example, as you did not lecture, you taught by living, I learned by watching, I absorbed your lessons without even realising it, you taught me how to be present, how to look at the world with a heart wide open, and how to carry myself with dignity, you taught me kindness by the way you treated others without ever naming it, love by the way you gave it freely, without conditions or applause, strength by the way you endured, without bitterness or performance, I believed teaching was something you did, while you were here, while you could guide me, correct me, reassure me, and catch me when I stumbled, but what I never imagined is that Mother’s Day would become a reminder that you are still teaching me

 

Ma, it is the graduate level course I never wanted to take, but even in your absence, you remain deeply present, I see that you are still teaching me, even now, not with your voice, but with everything you left behind that is all still here, tucked into the corners of my being, you are teaching me, every day, how to do things I never imagined needing to learn, how to exist inside shock, how to find joys in the cracks of sorrow, how to carry this enormous weight of grief, how to live a life, that still has meaning, even when a part of my heart is missing, how to love through ache, knowing the cost, but choosing it anyway, how to tend this wound that never fully heals, you are reminding me that I am stronger than I ever thought I could be, because you had planted those seeds of strength in me long ago

 

Ma, as the years passed, the teaching deepened, every tear I shed is a lesson in love, every memory is a proof of who you were, and who you helped me become, I do not know how to be a daughter without you, but I am actively, achingly, learning from you, now, you are still so powerfully showing me through your absence what you always taught me through your presence - how to live, this has been a gruelling masterclass in grief, so on this fourth Mother’s Day, I honour you not just as the mum who gave me life but as my professor you continue to be, your lesson is still in session, and I am sitting in the classroom of my heart, reviewing the notes you left everywhere, I am your forever student, and the curriculum is a lifetime of loving you, so thank you Ma, my first teacher, my greatest teacher