Legacy. What is a legacy?
It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.
I wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me.
My Mom passed away 25 years ago today. I planned to get away for a few days to get some new scenery, get some work done, and get some quiet reflection on the day, but Covid had other ideas. I was starting to feel like I was going to let the occasion slip away.
But then I realized the girls had a short day, so the three of us went for a walk and had a picnic of Sourdough & Co sandwiches while Cherise got some work done. As we talked and cracked jokes, I was constantly thinking about how my mother would’ve been in awe of these two. That was followed by seeing a pic of the parents of my oldest & closest friend (including his mom, who was quite close to my mother) getting their vaccinations. I was left with a smile on my face, proud of her surviving peers finding ways to survive through the pandemic and carry on the Assamese legacy with their grandkids in ways my mother only dreamed of. I’ve been lucky enough to talk to them on Zooms during the pandemic and there’s something empowering to seeing the smiles on their faces and hearing his mom recall my mother and how much she misses her.
And while writing this, as I shoot furtive glances at my 15-year old daughter working on her laptop, I’m reminded of how much she resembles pictures of my mother as a student, long before two sons wore her down. I don’t think I realized how beautiful my mother was until I saw those traits passed on to Iris. Though she has been gone for over half my life, she’s still very present. Anniversaries are simply reminders that these last twenty-five years of my life are the garden she never got to see.