It has been three and a half years. I no longer pick up my phone involuntarily after getting in my car every morning. And I do not spend any more hours looking for the most inexpensive tickets to India every 90 days. I would have thought by now I would have unpacked most of my grief.

Yet, once every month or so, I wake up in cold sweat and panic attacks after a dream involving my mom. (Usually I have to stay up in a cool place or walk incessantly to calm down after that). I have learnt how to listen to her favorite songs again but only if nobody is around – because I break down quickly and profusely. I have not yet reached the stage where I can listen to the songs she herself sang. I get excited planning India trips for Sharmila and the girls to go see my mother in law but I feel less than zero urge to go to India any more. Instead, I use that time to go see people of other countries that I have not been to.

I will refrain from calling her the best mom in the world. That would cross my obstinacy for logic and proper grammar.

What is true though is that she was the only mom I had. And that is what made her unique and extraordinary to me. It was the blind love that she had (like every mom) that made the relationship so special and unparalleled to me (like every son or daughter no doubt feels).

For three and a half years I have been trying to live by my own advice – Do not regret a death but celebrate the life.

Like hell I have been to getting any close to practicing what I have ever preached on that!!