That same year a close friend's mother also had a relapse of cancer, and this time it was too late. I still remember the early morning call I got from my friend, announcing the sad news. I hung up, letting the news sink in. I stepped out of my room, where my mother, without knowing or understanding, showered a lot of kisses on me - this was a peculiar moment for me - my friend had lost his mother, and my mother, although the mind is lost, is there for me still expressing her love in ways possible in her now limited and different personality - I end up coming back to this moment many times afterwards, in reflection.
Beyond my younger days, though I had been closer to my father I had rarely expressed my love as kisses or hugs. It was always there, and it was granted, my love for him and his for me. After we had almost lost my mother and saved by a surgery in the nick of time in 2013, I had always been worried about my mother's health, and had ensured that I always went to meet her for her birthday, while never doing the same for my father (I had somewhere assumed he would be there for a much longer time). Now that there is no more the option to express my love, I feel having missed out the chance during the last couple of decades.
And this thought, despite the inability to connect with the person Amma is changing to be due to her illness, at times confuses, and at times makes me appreciate the opportunity to express love to people while they are alive.