On this Good Friday, it will be a year since Mom found her peace.
If I’m being truly honest, this has been the longest, hardest year of my life and not even the depths of the Covid years come close. I’ve had moments where I wasn’t sure if I’d already hit my lowest point or if the fall wasn’t over yet.
Losing both parents… it’s something you can never really prepare for, no matter how old you are. The absence is loud. And grief – it doesn’t follow rules.
But enough about me. This post is for Mom, and the incredible woman she was.
I still think about the beautiful words the priest shared at her funeral. I wish someone had recorded the same – it was moving, heartfelt and full of admiration. You could tell they had a genuine connection, and that came through in every word he spoke.
He talked about her deep bond with the church, her charity work, and the unwavering love she had for her husband. Towards the end, he turned to us, her daughters and gently reminded us to take our time to grieve, but also to hold onto the comfort that she had lived a full and faithful life. That she had fought the good fight and was now reunited with the love of her life. And above all, he said, she would want us to continue living — wholeheartedly, meaningfully, and with God at the heart of everything.
If I were to list even a fraction of her acts of charity, I could fill an entire book — she was that much of a giver. And what made it even more beautiful was that she never expected anything in return. She gave selflessly, never spoke ill of anyone, and was the strongest person I’ve ever known.
Of all the stories Dad and others have shared about her, one in particular stands out.
She was in training at Calicut Medical College when she came across a dishevelled gentleman who had come to donate blood. Sensing something wasn’t quite right, she gently struck up a conversation and soon found out he was from my father’s hometown. His son had been admitted to the hospital in critical condition. Mom took the time to visit the child over the next few days, but sadly, the boy passed away. When she realized the father couldn’t even afford to begin the child’s funeral, she didn’t pause even for a second — she gave him all the money she had.
Now, keep in mind, this was back in 1981. I was just three months old at the time, being looked after by my dad at his family home. She had to call him and ask if he could travel from Kochi to Calicut — because she’d given away everything she had and was left with nothing. And to Dad’s credit, he didn’t even blink when she told him. She had given all her money to help a stranger, and he simply got on the road.
That story became something of a legend in my dad’s hometown. And for years afterward, the boy’s family would visit her whenever they were in town — as if paying quiet tribute to the kindness they never forgot.
The Bible verse that reminds me most of my mom is this:
“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.”
She lived those words fully — with strength, grace, and a fierce commitment to what was right. Whether it was in her quiet acts of compassion or the values she passed on to us, she ran her race with purpose and unwavering faith.
And as I reflect on this Lenten season, I realize more than ever that my greatest strength — my superpower — is that I am my mother’s daughter.
Picture Courtesy: Kunjechi
