The organised chaos, Wedding March

Mummy and Me

!(imgleft) and me)!:

I always thought my mother is pretty zen about us getting married and flying the coop, since she had been surprisingly stoic and dry-eyed during the Sista’s wedding when I had expected her to be a blubbering mess. Afterall, Sista was the one Mummy had always been more preoccupied about. It’s not that she loved me any lesser, it’s just that her worry about Sista’s rebellious nature and health problems turned into additional maternal attention. So if her relief at seeing her problematic child married did not bring on the tears, I doubted that her other daughter – someone she never had to worry about – would be able turn the tap on.

Imagine, to my surprise then, when Mummy suddenly burst into tears yesterday morning. It couldn’t have happened at a more incongruous time – I was trying to swallow down my breakfast as quickly as possible because I was running late, she was all bubbly about the birthday present I had gotten her the night before. Seconds later, her exuberance turned into sobs.

In a wobbly voice, she told me that she was happy when Sista got married. While she is also happy that I had found my lifelong partner, she would also miss me greatly because I have been by her side for the past 27 years. Sista has always been flighty and independent, never a mummy’s girl. But I was different, she said, because I had never really left her side since the day I was born. No matter where I went, I would always return home to her. But from the day I marry the boyf, I would never be by her side again.

I suppose it’s strange that her little daughter – the one whose breakfast she makes everyday, whose messy room causes her to sigh and shake her head, and who never fails to bring her a present whenever she goes overseas – is no longer her baby. The house, which contains my clothes and clutter and is filled by my voice and pounding music, would be oddly silent and empty. My grumpy face would not greet her every morning and she wouldn’t have to deal with my leftovers anymore.

For a 61-year-old, that must be a lonely prospect, especially for someone who hasn’t had a partner to lean on for the past 21 years. Her children were all that she had to live for and now, we wouldn’t be reliant on her anymore.

I don’t know how to tell her that it’s okay, I have always been a Mummy’s girl and that’s not going to change. Hopefully, the Sista produces a bun soon to fill the gap left behind by us.

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