From the Daughter's Perspective:

The Painful Journey of a Mother

"Why should I go when they are dead?" I questioned, my heart filled with unresolved emotions.

"Isn't that your mother, honey?"

someone asked, but I couldn't find comfort in those words. I knew the truth, deep down.

"Don't say anything because of me. Mother only by position,"

I replied bitterly, feeling the weight of my unspoken pain. She never embraced me with love or kissed me as a mother should.

I grew up not knowing the warmth of a mother's love. To make matters worse, she never even nursed me as a baby. How could I bring myself to see her lying lifeless, when her love for me felt so hollow and distant?

"I am not comfortable," I expressed, my discomfort apparent to those around me." Yes, that crew was..."

I trailed off, unable to find the right words to describe the complex relationship I had with the woman I was supposed to call 'Mother.

'She had once been a dreamer, stepping into a new life with a man who loved her since their orphanage days. But her dreams shattered when he left her for another woman, leaving her with a baby stained with blood.

Despite her pain, she worked tirelessly to give me a good education, hoping I wouldn't end up like her. She sacrificed her sleep and food to secure my future.

She believed her purpose in life was to ensure I had everything I needed, and she didn't need anyone's support, even in her old age. As I grew older, she had to work in different countries, leaving me in the care of friends.

Back then,

there were no video calls or WhatsApp, and we couldn't share our lives as we wished. I longed to know her, and she probably yearned to know me, but we remained distant.I couldn't shake the feeling that she viewed me only as a source of financial support.

I imagined her living carelessly,

somewhere far away, oblivious to my struggles and growth.Her biggest wish was for me to study, get a good job, and live with her until her last breath. But by the time she expressed that, I had already drifted far from her.

Today,

she travels alone, having been born alone, lived alone, and fought alone....

The cruel irony is that she no longer needs to listen to anyone's complaints or grievances, for life has finally claimed her.

As....I recount this story, I can't help but feel an overwhelming mix of emotions...,. Regret, guilt, and sadness intertwine,....

knowing that we were both victims of life's relentless cruelty.

This incident happened somewhere in Kerala, a place now etched in my memories with the bittersweet remembrance of a mother I couldn't truly know.

After the passing of my mother, the weight of unspoken words and unanswered questions continued to linger in my heart. It was as if there was a void that could only be filled by unraveling the mysteries she had left behind.

In the days following her departure, I found myself going through her belongings, searching for any clues to better understand the woman who had been so distant yet had sacrificed so much for me. Among the stack of personal items, a worn-out diary caught my attention.

A surge of curiosity and anticipation filled me as I held the diary in my hands. Its weathered pages seemed to whisper stories untold, waiting for someone to listen and understand. But to my surprise, the diary was locked with a small padlock, prompting me to wonder what secrets it held.

I examined the diary closely, hoping to find a clue or a hint that would lead me to the key or the code to unlock it. As I flipped through the pages, my eyes caught a line that read, "Dear daughter, only you hold the key to unlock the tales of my soul."

Suddenly, it dawned on me—the code to unlock the diary might be hidden within the deep recesses of my own memory. With cautious excitement, I began to recall significant moments shared between my mother and me. Memories flooded my mind, but one stood out—the date of my birth.

I rushed to retrieve my birth certificate and searched for the date that had brought me into this world. With trembling hands, I entered the numbers into the tiny lock on the diary, holding my breath as I turned the dials, hoping for success.

*Click*. The lock disengaged, allowing me access to the secrets enshrined within the diary's faded pages. As I began to read, tears welled up in my eyes, knowing that for the first time, I would glimpse into the depths of my mother's heart.

The pages overflowed with love, longing, and vulnerability. It was a window into her innermost thoughts, a place where she poured out her emotions when words seemed inadequate. Through the diary, I discovered hidden dreams, fears, and aspirations—parts of her that she had never shared in person.

In the days that followed, reading through the diary became a daily ritual, as if I were having intimate conversations with my mother from beyond. The entries revealed her struggles, her hopes, and the overwhelming love she had for me, her daughter.

Within the diary, I also found pictures—faded photographs capturing precious moments from our shared past. Each image depicted a different stage of our lives, evoking memories of laughter, tears, and celebrations. They served as visual reminders of the bond we had, despite the physical distance that stood between us.

As I continued my journey through the diary, I stumbled upon a letter addressed specifically to me. In it, my mother expressed her deepest regrets for not being able to be the mother I had always desired and deserved. She wrote of the sacrifices she made, believing that by providing for my future, she could compensate for the emotional void in our relationship. Her words were filled with an unspoken apology and a plea for forgiveness.

Reading her heartfelt confession brought forth a flood of conflicting emotions within me—gratitude for her unwavering commitment, regret for the distance that had grown between us, and a newfound understanding of the complexity of our bond.

Armed with this newfound knowledge and the connection I felt through her diary, I began to reconcile with the past, freeing myself from the burden of resentment and embracing the love that had always existed between us. My mother's words, etched on those fragile pages, allowed me to weave together the fragments of our story, transforming pain into acceptance and healing.

Thus, as I turned the last page of the diary, I closed it with a sense of peace in my heart. While our journey as mother and daughter had been marked by unspoken pain, the diary had become a testament to the depth of her love and the resilience of our bond.

With renewed clarity, gratitude, and a profound understanding of her sacrifices, I emerged from this experience ready to honor her memory and carry her legacy forward. My mother's words would forever resonate within me, reminding me that even amidst distance and misunderstanding, love can transcend time and touch our souls in the most profound ways imaginable.

With the bittersweet closure that came from reading my mother's diary, a newfound determination ignited within me. I was no longer content with just understanding the depth of my mother's love and sacrifices; I wanted to uncover the truth behind the mysteries that surrounded her life.

An entry in the diary had mentioned someone referred to as "the *****," who had allegedly taken my father away from my mother. It was time for me to dig deeper, to seek out the answers that had eluded her for so long.

Equipped with a list of names mentioned in the diary, I embarked on a journey to find those who might have known the truth about what happened between my parents. Armed with courage and a burning curiosity, I set out to unveil the secrets that had haunted my mother until her last days.

The first name on my list was Aunt Maggie, my mother's younger sister whom I vaguely remembered from childhood. I tracked her down and arranged a meeting, hoping she could shed some light on the situation.

As Aunt Maggie opened her door, I was struck by the resemblance she bore to my mother. Her eyes held both sadness and familiarity as she welcomed me into her modest home. Over a cup of tea, I shared my purpose for seeking her out—to understand the events that led to my parents' separation.

Aunt Maggie's gaze grew distant as memories flooded back, causing a mixture of pain and resolve to surface. With a trembling voice, she started to unravel the tangled web of secrets that had haunted our family for years.

She explained how my father had been lured away by an attractive woman named Emily, whose cunning ways had won him over but had ultimately caused irreparable damage to our family. Aunt Maggie tearfully recounted the heartbreak and devastation my mother endured as she watched her marriage crumble.

Driven by anger and frustration, I pressed Aunt Maggie for more information. Who was this Emily, and why had she sought to destroy my parents' relationship? Once again, Aunt Maggie's face clouded with a mix of emotions as she revealed that Emily had been a close friend of my mother's.

Stunned by this revelation, I struggled to comprehend how someone my mother trusted could commit such a betrayal. The memories of laughter-filled gatherings and the warmth of friendship between my mother and Emily now appeared tainted.

Determined to piece together the truth, I reached out to others on my list: childhood friends, neighbors, and colleagues who had once been part of my parents' lives. Each conversation revealed a fragment, a small clue that began to form a clearer picture of the events that unfolded.

As the puzzle began to take shape, it became evident that Emily was not just any friend—she had been envious of my mother's life. Fueled by resentment and her own insecurities, she had schemed to undermine my parents' relationship, exploiting vulnerabilities and planting seeds of doubt between them.

With this newfound knowledge, my anger flared, and a mix of emotions surged through me. How could someone be so heartless, so cruel? But amid the raging tempest within, I also felt a sense of gratitude for uncovering the truth, for giving my mother's pain a voice.

Armed with this understanding, I made a decision—to confront Emily and demand answers. With the support of Aunt Maggie and the knowledge gained from those who had witnessed the events unfold, I set out to find her....