Memories can bring healing or hurt, joy or sorrow. Memories are double-edged, as they are often clouded by or associated with strong emotions. My memories are vivid, colorful and realistic for one reason: my active imagination. In this sense, some of my memories tend to provide me more with negative than positive feelings. However, the memories I have of my mother will always be filled with nostalgic bliss and unequaled love.

The happiest, clearest memory I cherish is that of my mother’s smile and laughter. She had emigrated from India to South Africa as a young mother, not knowing a word of English or Afrikaans, the native language. Yet, she somehow managed to raise not only seven children, me being the fifth child, but also did this without ever having received any formal education. Her resilience, patience and imperturbable faith are all qualities I strive to emulate.

I can clearly see, even right at this very moment, that inimitable, shy but somehow mischievous smile of hers. It used to make my heart overflow with love for her, and it still does. She had cheeks like those of a cherub’s, and when she smiled, they became chubbier and more pinch-able. Her eyes would sparkle with some inner glow, and her lips would pout slightly before flattening out into a wide grin. Inevitably, she would raise a hand to cover her smile, as if afraid to let the tightly held control escape forever.

Yes, my mother lived a life of strict control, for we had little and she had even less. Yet… she had the incredible capacity for generosity. Even stranger to me was her unexpected sense of humor. I knew about all the hardships she had faced, a husband who had abandoned her and us not the least of it, but my mother never, ever lost her love of life, or to laugh with utter abandon.

My second eldest sister, my mother and I often watched TV programs together. One of our favorite shows was Mind Your Language, a British comedy. Although some of the jokes were too complicated for my mother, as they often relied on puns, my mother still seemed to ‘get the joke’. I marveled at her raw intelligence, her innate, unlettered intelligence, which was so much higher than my book smarts. Her laughter at the antics and tomfoolery of the characters in this British comedy still rings pleasantly in my ears. And it sustains me in dark, despondent moments.

I don’t need to say, “What I wouldn’t give to see my mother’s smile or hear her laugh just one more time!” I have no need of this, for her smile brightens my life any time I close my eyes and think of her. Her laughter is a clarion call in my heart when tears threaten to overwhelm me. Her presence I still feel, even twenty-one long years after her passing.

Ultimately, I think my happiest memory will always and forever be of this unique woman: my mother.