My mom and my baby

She calls me almost every day to check up on the baby and how my wife is doing. She's come by a few times bringing special laddoos for nursing moms. She loves holding the little baby in her arms, her last grandchild, watching him relax in her arms.

Every time we go for a medical checkup, she waits anxiously all day. When I forget to call and report, she calls in the evening, and I tell her everything is going fine. The baby is growing well; in fact, better than well. She's excited and proud, and she claims it's because of our strong family genes.

When she visits, she tries to figure out who he looks like. It's hard to tell. She laments a bit that none of her grandchildren look like her. She was really hoping that the fourth one would have reflected her features. I remind her that it's too early to tell and joke that all babies look like aliens at first. She gently scolds me for the comment.

None of this happened. My mom passed away two months before my son was born. It was a two-year fight against aggressive cancer.

Even as her health declined significantly, she was still planning the future. But she was also a realist and prepared for all eventualities. She gave us instructions on her last rites.

There are a hundred things I can write, but they'll still not capture everything I want to hold on to about her. There will be things I'll forget and things I will discover about myself over the years that I'll attribute to her. Her loss still hurts, and everyone tells me that the pain doesn't really go away.

Right now, though, I am looking forward. Our second child is here and growing well. Our first is curious and tries to be helpful. We recently had a professional photographer take some family photos. It was fun and full of joy. I can't ask for much more from life. We lose, and we gain. And we always move forward.