My Beloved Mother,

How are you? You would be wondering why I am writing you a letter. Do not wonder. I am thinking about you and all memories that I hold dearly. All the lessons you taught me still guides my every thought. You left me when I was barely leaving the cradle. There was no one for me to handle. You were there in the beginning. You did not tell me you would not be there for me till the end.

How are you? I need to ask you that question because you never ceased to ask me the same question when you were alive. In case you do not know, my father died recently and he was so fond of you. My sisters and brothers are grown and have left the house. I visited our house last year and it is kept the way you would want it. Clean. But mama, you were there in the beginning. You did not tell me you would not be there for me till the end.

I missed you. My children are missing you. Although you did not wait to meet them, I have shared your memories with them. Particularly, the day you took me to school and the rain drenched my uniform while the fierce wind stole the tiny umbrella from your grip. Forgetting your own welfare, you carried me. I felt loved. You were there in the beginning. You did not tell me you would not be there for me till the end.

Our family is good. But your friend, our neighbour, has also passed on. She died in her sleep. I am sure the two of you would meet somehow in heaven. Did you just smile your disarming smile, mama? That is one of the things I inherited from you, the ability to smile easily. You were there in the beginning. You did not tell me you would not be there for me till the end.

Do not complain about my letter. I have not written you a letter before. Let me tell you a secret. I am participating in a Poetry Marathon. One of the assignments is to write a letter to someone who is dead or who we have not seen in a long time. That is why I am writing you this. Because you were there in the beginning. But you did not tell me you would not be there for me till the end.

Mama, I need to stop before I drench the computer keyboard with my tears. I got that from you, too. You cry easily. But you have taught not to cry. You said tears do not wet new dreams. I believe you, mama. I will write again. Soon. Regards to dad, if you see him around.