(In this “November Special Series,” RVA’s writers share memories of loved ones they have lost — a celebration of their lives, recalled with a tinge of sadness and the hope that one day there will be a reunion…… in a place where there is no death, no suffering, and where God Himself will wipe away every tear. – Editor)
Have you ever experienced the sudden shock of hearing the words, “She is no more” or “He is no more”? I heard them twice in my life—first on 5 May 1995 at around 8:30 pm, a Friday, and then again on 9 September 2021 at 6:28 pm, a Thursday. The first was the loss of my beloved father. The second was my mother. It is the latter that I wish to reflect upon here.
I lovingly called her Mai. Words are insufficient to express what she meant to me. My earliest memory of her is playing at her side as she combed her long hair; my last is her gentle voice over the phone asking, “Did you have your lunch?” Between these moments lies an ocean of memories, emotions, and a life lived close to her heart.
We are five sisters, all girls, and I am the youngest, deeply cherished by both Mai and Papa. Growing up in a beautiful village embraced by hills and nature, I shared an emotional bond with my mother so deep that I could not bear the thought of her ever being in pain. As a child, I never left her side. Even when my father or sisters tried to dissuade me from accompanying her to relatives’ houses or community functions, I insisted on going with her.
Her life shaped mine profoundly. Every word she spoke, every prayer she prayed, and every act of kindness she extended left an imprint on me. I am who I am today because of who she was then.
Leaving her at the age of fifteen to serve as a missionary in Bihar, north India, was the hardest decision of my life. Yet, God was with both of us. She prayed without ceasing. Whatever I have learnt, forgiveness, unconditional love, helping others, accommodating all, devotion to Jesus Crucified, reverence for the Eucharist as the source of strength, and love for Mary through the daily Rosary, all came from her. In our family, we never abandoned daily prayer, the Rosary, Scripture reading, annual retreats, or visiting the sick. This continues to this day, thanks to both our parents.
She Died as She Lived
When I see people living beyond eighty-five, sometimes beyond ninety-five, I wonder why Mai left so early, at seventy-six. But when I reflect on her life, I realise: she died as she lived. On the day she died, she had three heart attacks. She suffered silently, alone, yet endured for five hours. With the final massive attack, she surrendered gently. In life, too, she spoke little; her silence carried strength, her loneliness fostered resilience, and her endurance held our family together.
She stood alone when my father passed away in her arms. She stood alone in every family decision. She stood alone in her final moments of suffering and death. But she was never truly alone. Jesus and Mother Mary, whom she loved deeply and trusted completely, stood beside her always.
On September 9, 2021, at 6:28 pm, just as I was about to enter the chapel for Thursday Adoration, my animator called me aside. After a few kind words, she said gently, “Your mother is no more.” I cannot fully express what happened within me. I felt, quite literally, as though the life that was in my heart flew away. I uttered only two words, “No, sister”, in disbelief. It felt as though someone had snatched my life from me.
The night I spent at the airport seemed endless. The journey home felt surreal. Because of COVID protocols, I was taken home by ambulance. Trembling, I stepped out. I saw no one, not even my sisters. My eyes searched only for her. There she lay, Mai, in the coffin, surrounded by flowers, hands folded with the Rosary, those same hands that would have blessed me as I entered. All I could say was, “Mai, you have left us and gone.” Then came silence.
Faith Amid Loss
I returned after ten days, deeply broken, carrying an emptiness no words could fill. I resolved not to cry in front of others and to continue my responsibilities. Yet, every night for three months, I wept silently for hours. Sometimes I didn’t even realise when the tears began to fall.
One day, in prayer, I whispered to Jesus, “I hope you have taken my mother to heaven.” A moment of honest doubt followed; she is not here, so she must be with Jesus. She cannot be anywhere else. It was a battle between faith and grief. In the end, faith prevailed. I believed with conviction: one who has spoken and done only good surely deserves heaven.
As I gather these memories and look toward the future with Jesus, I am reminded of the hymn In the Sweet By and By by Sanford Fillmore Bennett:
There’s a land that is fairer than day,
And by faith we can see it afar;
For the Father waits over the way
To prepare us a dwelling place there.
In the sweet by and by,
We shall meet on that beautiful shore.
We shall sing on that beautiful shore
The melodious song of the blessed,
And our spirits shall sorrow no more,
Not a sigh for the blessing of rest.
May that sweet land be the final destination for all of us. For it is only there that we will find our true solace, with our one faithful Friend, Jesus.
