READ THE MOST AMAZING TRIBUTES TO GREAT MOTHERS ON. MOTHER'S DAY

"The world changes from year to year; our lives from day to day. But the love and memory of you shall never pass away..."

THERE'S something about losing a mother that's so permanent. How can one even find the words to express the emptiness? And then... that gnawing longing for her gentle gaze and to hear her voice — just one more time.

I can only imagine.

Because I still have my mother. Although she's oceans away (she lives in England), thanks to technology (via Whatsapp video calls), I can still hear her teasing reprimand and look into the warmth of her eyes on this special day.

But not everyone's lucky. Here's their loving tribute.

MAMA, MY BEST FRIEND

Mama was my best friend, partner in crime and my personal psychiatrist. I could talk to her about everything. She always encouraged an open and honest relationship so we shared many secrets together.

Mama was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer in early November 2009. I was working in Singapore when she broke the news as I just accepted a job offer. At the beginning, she went through chemo once every three to four weeks but towards the end, it was every week.

Because of this, her nails started turning black, her nose bled at times, her hair fell out and she was always tired. Besides chemotherapy, she went through radiotherapy as well — several times within the three years — and the side-effects were terrible.

First chemo picture.

My dad never missed any of her appointments and was always beside her. From morning till night, he was there. In fact, he was the one who kept track of her appointments. During her final year, she went through brain surgery as we'd discovered that there was water in her brain which affected her balancing.

At times she'd fall, in the toilet sometimes, and she was no longer able to attend her istana (palace) functions and weddings. She had speech problems and often got frustrated when no one understood her. She was always confused and hallucinated at times.

Towards the end, she was always sleeping, and gradually it got harder to understand what she was trying to say as the cancer had covered the whole surface of her brain. Three days passed as she entered a deep sleep. Mama took her last breath at 3.41am, Dec 8, 2012 after three years of battling lung cancer.

Her parents, her brother, her husband, her kids, her sisters and brothers-in-law from Selangor, Negri Sembilan, Johor, Perlis, her nephews and nieces, her friends, were all by her side despite the early hours.

I'd lost my best friend, my sidekick, my partner in crime, my napping partner. Even during her final hours, I was still lying down next to her, kissing her, smelling her and telling her how much I love her. She might have lost her battle, but she'll always be my hero who'll forever live in me.

Looking back, there's much to remember. For example, my late Mama was very much involved in the planning and early stages of my social enterprise even though she was weak and going through chemo.

It was her idea to develop the concept that everyone's passion in making a difference is different. So we created The Hope Factory Malaysia, a social enterprise that not only stands up for one but six different causes. She taught me to be humble, to reach out to others and she imparted in me the importance of giving without expectations.

A lot of people knew my mother as a pious woman who was devoted to my father and loved her entire family with all her heart and soul. But she was more than that. For starters, she was an amazing cook and we'd bake together often, especially on a rainy day while sharing secrets.

Every Sunday, she'd make special lunches like shepherd's pie, roast chicken, roast lamb and occasionally baked lobsters with cheese. Mama, the daughter of a Deputy Director General of Malaysian Customs, also loved to dance. She'd peep into my room whenever she heard loud music and would boogie on down.

I also think she's related to Schumacher because slowing down wasn't in her dictionary. She'd send and pick me and my brother up from school every day — in five minutes flat. I also remember the quirky yet insightful messages that she'd send daily to my phone like 'I hope you've done your prayers', adding to the other four messages that she'd already sent. Unless she adds random text messages like, "Wanna watch Glee?"

I learnt many important lessons from Mama. Her motto in life was 'do everything in the name of God and you'll always be at peace'. She prepared me really well for her death, often reminding that it'd come soon. She told me never to cry over her death. 'You're only allowed five minutes if you really have to and then move on with your life.' Those words are always in my head whenever I feel like crying.

She also taught me to see the good in people; to walk away from gossip, and to stay quiet if I don't have anything nice to say. She prepared me to face challenges with an open heart, saying that, "For all that you'll go through, good or bad, you'll receive wisdom."

I miss Mama a lot. I've never gone through a day without thinking of her. What I miss most? The late nights spent together, lying in bed chatting, confiding in her, giggling, watching movies and scoffing down junk food!

We did celebrate Mother's Day when Mama was alive. Dad was always the planner — from getting the card, balloons and cake. I'd usually follow him to shop for my mother's gifts and we'd typically get her a scarf or anything in her favourite colour — pink.

We'd take her out for lunch to a nice restaurant as an 'off day' treat from her daily cooking and then at night, we'd take my maternal grandmother out for dinner to celebrate. The tradition continued on with us taking my grandmother out on Mother's Day even after Mama's passing. Today, on every Mother's Day, we'd buy flowers for her, but it'd be for her grave. She may be out of sight, but never out of mind.

My advice for those who still have their mother? Love her, take lots of pictures with her. Don't ever hurt her, don't make her cry and most importantly, don't take her for granted. Spend as much time as you can with her while she's healthy. Because once she's gone, you'll truly miss the warmth.

Mum started a civil service career with the Ministry of Agriculture in 1960, and retired in 1986 from the Department of Statistics Malaysia. She was 70 when she passed away in September 2010. About 14 months earlier, she'd had a severe stroke, leaving her a total invalid; it was a second one that led to her passing.

I remember Mum, who had me before her 21st birthday, being a strong woman on many levels. She married at age 18 to a man 12 years her senior yet they had a relationship of equals, much to my Dad's credit. I think their five 'buffaloes' learnt gender equality and respect for women from their sterling relationship.

Mum, a voracious reader and crossword puzzle fan, was a very firm parent and crystal-clear about what was right, proper and polite. While Dad was the strict disciplinarian who wouldn't hesitate to belt us if we stepped out of line, an icy stare or raised tone from Mum was enough to correct any inappropriate behaviour from her five boisterous children.

She was neither strict nor lenient. Firm but also kinda funky. I called her Jivin' Georgia after the morning DJ because she'd blast the radio at 5.45am to wake us up for school.

I'd always felt unconditional support from Mum in everything that I did. When I planned at the age of 10 to cross-dress and parody a female teacher at a Teacher's Day concert at my boys-only missionary school, Mum lent me her wig and sarong.

When I disappointed Dad by pursuing a university degree in Theatre Arts rather than in Law, she supported my decision. From the very start, she'd insist on being at all my performance projects, read, watch or listen to everything that I did in print, on stage or in the media. We'd have fun conversations about them after that.

I have many cherished memories of Mum. Our home in KL was unofficially designated the Penang Serani outpost for relatives and family friends of our heritage community. One of my favourite memories of Mum is how she was incredibly welcoming, hospitable and generous no matter who came through our front-door.

To keep an eye on the five buffaloes she was bringing up, Mum insisted that our house could easily become the hub of the 'hood so our friends were always welcome and she'd happily feed all of us at any mealtime.

I remember my grandmother saying that Mum was a high-achiever at school and dreamed of becoming a doctor but she was stricken with rheumatic fever which was severe and prolonged at the age of 14 and put the health of her heart at great risk.

As a result, her schooling was stopped, which kind of broke her heart, an irony of sorts. Yet her desire to become a doctor was so great she became intensely passionate about anything to do with health and medical issues; she collected medical encyclopaedias and handbooks, and loved watching medical documentaries. She exemplified the idea that just because you cannot achieve a dream, it doesn't mean you can't live it out in another way.

From circa late 1961 or 1962.

Her ease and facility with medical terms and concepts would always make doctors attending to anyone in the family assume she might be a medic. Friends and relatives would often ask her for that second opinion.

Knowing about this aspect of her life reminds me how Mum always maintained her optimism, stayed resourceful, and was committed to caring for others and to do her best no matter what. A lesson that she taught me, from how she faced this thwarted childhood dream and other challenges along the way.

I never really went out of my way to observe Mother's Day in any big way while Mum was alive. Mainly because one brother or other would be organising something for Mum; a lunch and/or dinner in accordance with it, so I'd just leave it to them to do so, absolving myself of any obligations or feelings of guilt. You could say I pampered her when she least expected it?

Mum loved fancy perfumes. She also loved being a mall rat. So an afternoon window shopping, a gift of the latest scent, and leading to a nice dinner at a good restaurant would be her perfect day.

As I never really got into the Mother's Day thing in any big way, its recurrence each year evokes a slight tinge of regret and guilt for not having recollections of such a day with her. I've also thought I should feel grateful that I don't, or I'd be even sadder reaching back to re-live them. Memory is a double-edged sword in such situations of love and longing.

What do I miss most? Our chats. I miss her cooking. I miss the random phone calls of her checking on me. I miss the sight of her immaculately painted nails. Most of all, I miss the kind of unconditional 'friendship' only a mother (or father) can provide.

I have four surviving maternal aunts — Mum's two sisters and two sisters-in-law. I try to surprise them when they least expect it. I wish them much, MUCH love. To my Godma, Roberta, and to Aunty Rita, Aunty Christine and Aunty Jasmine — hope you have a wonderful and Happy Mother's Day!

NEVER GIVE UP

.

My mother was a fulltime housewife who dedicated her life to her family. She was Queen of the Kitchen, and also her garden, which was filled with all kinds of plants — from the flowering varieties to ferns, palms and creepers, to vegetables and fruit trees.

My mother wasn't the lovey-dovey kind. She didn't shower us with hugs and kisses, but loved us all the same. She took care of all our needs when we were small and was a strict mother who ensured that we abided by our father.

She taught us to read the Quran when we were small, and if I kept making mistakes in my recitation after she'd taught me a few times, she'd hit my fingers with a ruler. That made me focus!

Ours was a conventional family in which 'kids are seen and not heard'. So I seldom confided in her. But we had many wonderful moments sharing recipes, shopping together, taking care of the little ones in our family and attending wedding feasts and other occasions.

When it came to cooking, no matter how many times she guided us to make sambal belacan or gulai ikan tempoyak (Perak's version of cooking fish using fermented durian paste), ours could never match hers.

In the end, we put it down to air tangan mak, which has something to do with a mother's love that emanates through the taste of the dish, which is what makes it delicious beyond compare.

Mother's Day wasn't a traditional celebration in our family so we didn't celebrate it in a big way. But as the awareness of Mother's Day increased as the years went by, I'd call my mother and wish her. I even wrote letters to her — the old-fashioned way. She lived with my brother in our hometown in Ipoh, and only once did my trip to Ipoh coincide with Mother's Day. So we took her out for a good dinner in town.

I remember the times when it was Mother's Day and acquaintances would ask, 'So, what are you getting your mother?' For anyone who has lost a parent, such a well-meaning question prods you to revisit grief. But I try to have only happy thoughts about her. Like how she loved to travel.

Those days — in the 60s through early 90s — going away on holidays for my mother meant staying at relatives' houses, which served as the base for sightseeing nearby. Putting up the night in hotels was alien. To her conservative mind, hotels were associated with kupu-kupu malam (ladies of the night)!

This perception changed over time and she eventually became more open about it. But still, if she could avoid staying in one, she would. So she'd join the large rombongan (group tours) by bus that travelled overnight, reaching the destination in the morning. And the tours would always be shopping tours!

She loved going away with her sisters or friends for those outings. Their destinations? The border towns of Padang Besar in Perlis and Bukit Kayu Hitam in Kedah — both akin to shanty cowboy towns with hundreds of stalls selling cheap Thai products; and Rantau Panjang and Pengkalan Kubor in Kelantan, also straddling the Kelantan-Thai border. When Langkawi became a duty-free shopping haven, the ladies started to head there by the bus load.

The load of things that they carted away filled their bus to the brim – from pots and pans to crockery and the-then (and still) famous Corelle dinnerware. And every time they returned from such trips, they'd still bring home more pots and pans… and lots of stories.

It was also from such stories that I first knew that Toto wasn't just the 4D number! It's also synonymous with cheap comforters. My mother would say, 'I bought Toto for just RM25.' Guess what? Eventually, my own house was filled with more Totos and pots and pans than I actually needed. I didn't have the heart to refuse these when she kept giving them to me for I knew it brought her so much joy to give.

When her kidneys failed, the trips stopped and she became forlorn. But not for long. The feisty woman that she was, she turned her thrice-weekly dialysis sessions at the hospital as outings to look forward to. She'd pack home-cooked food as if she were going for a picnic. She even tried new recipes, cooked them and shared them with fellow patients, nurses and even doctors.

Far from being down when her blood was 'cleansed' during each four-hour dialysis session, she'd chat with any one sitting next to her. Eventually, she knew everyone who came for treatment. Whenever I accompanied her on such sessions, she'd whisper 'tales' about the goings-on in the ward. She remained cheerful despite her pain.

That was the best lesson I learned from her. No matter how bad a situation, always make the best of it. Never give up even when the odds are against you. It took me quite a while to get acquainted with the oddity of not hearing her chatter after she passed away. Oh, how I miss that. Mother's Day reminds me of her absence and it's not easy. But she's there… always present 

My mother was a devoted housewife, simple and hardworking, with a love for sewing and cleaning. Among my five sisters, I was the closest to her. I remember her being a loving mother but one who was a stickler for discipline. She always ensured that we carried out our duties — and to do it well.

Just like other doting mothers, she'd do the housework without complaint and took care of the kids. Even when I got married, she continued to treat me like a princess. And this treatment was extended to my husband. Whenever she stayed with us, she'd iron his clothes and polish his shoes! She loved my husband, just like her own son.

Simple and hardworking mother.

Thinking back, she taught through her actions and the way she lived her life. I learned so many lessons from her; perhaps the most obvious are independence, being a good homemaker and also the importance of being able to converse in English. She studied in a Convent so her English was good.

We did celebrate Mother's Day with her but modestly as we weren't well off back then. But she'd be contented with our wishes. All she wanted on that special day was to be surrounded by her children.

I miss her a lot. I can never forget how she took on the role of both father and mother for us when we lost father. I was only ten. She nurtured and took care of us singlehandedly. She really is incomparable and 

"The world changes from year to year; our lives from day to day. But the love and memory of you shall never pass away..."

THERE'S something about losing a mother that's so permanent. How can one even find the words to express the emptiness? And then... that gnawing longing for her gentle gaze and to hear her voice — just one more time.

Oceans separate the writer and her beloved mother, Azizah.

I can only imagine.

Because I still have my mother. Although she's oceans away (she lives in England), thanks to technology (via Whatsapp video calls), I can still hear her teasing reprimand and look into the warmth of her eyes on this special day.

But not everyone's lucky. Here's their loving tribute.

MAMA, MY BEST FRIEND

Mama was my best friend, partner in crime and my personal psychiatrist. I could talk to her about everything. She always encouraged an open and honest relationship so we shared many secrets together.

Mama was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer in early November 2009. I was working in Singapore when she broke the news as I just accepted a job offer. At the beginning, she went through chemo once every three to four weeks but towards the end, it was every week.

Because of this, her nails started turning black, her nose bled at times, her hair fell out and she was always tired. Besides chemotherapy, she went through radiotherapy as well — several times within the three years — and the side-effects were terrible

My dad never missed any of her appointments and was always beside her. From morning till night, he was there. In fact, he was the one who kept track of her appointments. During her final year, she went through brain surgery as we'd discovered that there was water in her brain which affected her balancing.

At times she'd fall, in the toilet sometimes, and she was no longer able to attend her istana (palace) functions and weddings. She had speech problems and often got frustrated when no one understood her. She was always confused and hallucinated at times.

Towards the end, she was always sleeping, and gradually it got harder to understand what she was trying to say as the cancer had covered the whole surface of her brain. Three days passed as she entered a deep sleep. Mama took her last breath at 3.41am, Dec 8, 2012 after three years of battling lung cancer.

Her parents, her brother, her husband, her kids, her sisters and brothers-in-law from Selangor, Negri Sembilan, Johor, Perlis, her nephews and nieces, her friends, were all by her side despite the early hours.

I'd lost my best friend, my sidekick, my partner in crime, my napping partner. Even during her final hours, I was still lying down next to her, kissing her, smelling her and telling her how much I love her. She might have lost her battle, but she'll always be my hero who'll forever live in me.

Looking back, there's much to remember. For example, my late Mama was very much involved in the planning and early stages of my social enterprise even though she was weak and going through chemo.

It was her idea to develop the concept that everyone's passion in making a difference is different. So we created The Hope Factory Malaysia, a social enterprise that not only stands up for one but six different causes. She taught me to be humble, to reach out to others and she imparted in me the importance of giving without expectations.

A lot of people knew my mother as a pious woman who was devoted to my father and loved her entire family with all her heart and soul. But she was more than that. For starters, she was an amazing cook and we'd bake together often, especially on a rainy day while sharing secrets.

Every Sunday, she'd make special lunches like shepherd's pie, roast chicken, roast lamb and occasionally baked lobsters with cheese. Mama, the daughter of a Deputy Director General of Malaysian Customs, also loved to dance. She'd peep into my room whenever she heard loud music and would boogie on down.

Mama and Papa in Perlis 2011.

I also think she's related to Schumacher because slowing down wasn't in her dictionary. She'd send and pick me and my brother up from school every day — in five minutes flat. I also remember the quirky yet insightful messages that she'd send daily to my phone like 'I hope you've done your prayers', adding to the other four messages that she'd already sent. Unless she adds random text messages like, "Wanna watch Glee?"

I learnt many important lessons from Mama. Her motto in life was 'do everything in the name of God and you'll always be at peace'. She prepared me really well for her death, often reminding that it'd come soon. She told me never to cry over her death. 'You're only allowed five minutes if you really have to and then move on with your life.' Those words are always in my head whenever I feel like crying.

She also taught me to see the good in people; to walk away from gossip, and to stay quiet if I don't have anything nice to say. She prepared me to face challenges with an open heart, saying that, "For all that you'll go through, good or bad, you'll receive wisdom."

I miss Mama a lot. I've never gone through a day without thinking of her. What I miss most? The late nights spent together, lying in bed chatting, confiding in her, giggling, watching movies and scoffing down junk food!

We did celebrate Mother's Day when Mama was alive. Dad was always the planner — from getting the card, balloons and cake. I'd usually follow him to shop for my mother's gifts and we'd typically get her a scarf or anything in her favourite colour — pink.

We'd take her out for lunch to a nice restaurant as an 'off day' treat from her daily cooking and then at night, we'd take my maternal grandmother out for dinner to celebrate. The tradition continued on with us taking my grandmother out on Mother's Day even after Mama's passing. Today, on every Mother's Day, we'd buy flowers for her, but it'd be for her grave. She may be out of sight, but never out of mind.

My advice for those who still have their mother? Love her, take lots of pictures with her. Don't ever hurt her, don't make her cry and most importantly, don't take her for granted. Spend as much time as you can with her while she's healthy. Because once she's gone, you'll truly miss the warmth

Mum started a civil service career with the Ministry of Agriculture in 1960, and retired in 1986 from the Department of Statistics Malaysia. She was 70 when she passed away in September 2010. About 14 months earlier, she'd had a severe stroke, leaving her a total invalid; it was a second one that led to her passing.

I remember Mum, who had me before her 21st birthday, being a strong woman on many levels. She married at age 18 to a man 12 years her senior yet they had a relationship of equals, much to my Dad's credit. I think their five 'buffaloes' learnt gender equality and respect for women from their sterling relationship.

Mum, a voracious reader and crossword puzzle fan, was a very firm parent and crystal-clear about what was right, proper and polite. While Dad was the strict disciplinarian who wouldn't hesitate to belt us if we stepped out of line, an icy stare or raised tone from Mum was enough to correct any inappropriate behaviour from her five boisterous children.

She was neither strict nor lenient. Firm but also kinda funky. I called her Jivin' Georgia after the morning DJ because she'd blast the radio at 5.45am to wake us up for school.

I'd always felt unconditional support from Mum in everything that I did. When I planned at the age of 10 to cross-dress and parody a female teacher at a Teacher's Day concert at my boys-only missionary school, Mum lent me her wig and sarong.

When I disappointed Dad by pursuing a university degree in Theatre Arts rather than in Law, she supported my decision. From the very start, she'd insist on being at all my performance projects, read, watch or listen to everything that I did in print, on stage or in the media. We'd have fun conversations about them after that.

I have many cherished memories of Mum. Our home in KL was unofficially designated the Penang Serani outpost for relatives and family friends of our heritage community. One of my favourite memories of Mum is how she was incredibly welcoming, hospitable and generous no matter who came through our front-door.

To keep an eye on the five buffaloes she was bringing up, Mum insisted that our house could easily become the hub of the 'hood so our friends were always welcome and she'd happily feed all of us at any mealtime.

I remember my grandmother saying that Mum was a high-achiever at school and dreamed of becoming a doctor but she was stricken with rheumatic fever which was severe and prolonged at the age of 14 and put the health of her heart at great risk.

As a result, her schooling was stopped, which kind of broke her heart, an irony of sorts. Yet her desire to become a doctor was so great she became intensely passionate about anything to do with health and medical issues; she collected medical encyclopaedias and handbooks, and loved watching medical documentaries. She exemplified the idea that just because you cannot achieve a dream, it doesn't mean you can't live it out in another way.

From circa late 1961 or 1962.

Her ease and facility with medical terms and concepts would always make doctors attending to anyone in the family assume she might be a medic. Friends and relatives would often ask her for that second opinion.

Knowing about this aspect of her life reminds me how Mum always maintained her optimism, stayed resourceful, and was committed to caring for others and to do her best no matter what. A lesson that she taught me, from how she faced this thwarted childhood dream and other challenges along the way.

I never really went out of my way to observe Mother's Day in any big way while Mum was alive. Mainly because one brother or other would be organising something for Mum; a lunch and/or dinner in accordance with it, so I'd just leave it to them to do so, absolving myself of any obligations or feelings of guilt. You could say I pampered her when she least expected it?

Mum loved fancy perfumes. She also loved being a mall rat. So an afternoon window shopping, a gift of the latest scent, and leading to a nice dinner at a good restaurant would be her perfect day.

As I never really got into the Mother's Day thing in any big way, its recurrence each year evokes a slight tinge of regret and guilt for not having recollections of such a day with her. I've also thought I should feel grateful that I don't, or I'd be even sadder reaching back to re-live them. Memory is a double-edged sword in such situations of love and longing.

What do I miss most? Our chats. I miss her cooking. I miss the random phone calls of her checking on me. I miss the sight of her immaculately painted nails. Most of all, I miss the kind of unconditional 'friendship' only a mother (or father) can provide.

I have four surviving maternal aunts — Mum's two sisters and two sisters-in-law. I try to surprise them when they least expect it. I wish them much, MUCH love. To my Godma, Roberta, and to Aunty Rita, Aunty Christine and Aunty Jasmine — hope you have a wonderful and Happy Mother's Day!

Putri's love of travelling probably came from her mother.

NEVER GIVE UP

My mother was a fulltime housewife who dedicated her life to her family. She was Queen of the Kitchen, and also her garden, which was filled with all kinds of plants — from the flowering varieties to ferns, palms and creepers, to vegetables and fruit trees.

My mother wasn't the lovey-dovey kind. She didn't shower us with hugs and kisses, but loved us all the same. She took care of all our needs when we were small and was a strict mother who ensured that we abided by our father.

She taught us to read the Quran when we were small, and if I kept making mistakes in my recitation after she'd taught me a few times, she'd hit my fingers with a ruler. That made me focus!

Ours was a conventional family in which 'kids are seen and not heard'. So I seldom confided in her. But we had many wonderful moments sharing recipes, shopping together, taking care of the little ones in our family and attending wedding feasts and other occasions.

When it came to cooking, no matter how many times she guided us to make sambal belacan or gulai ikan tempoyak (Perak's version of cooking fish using fermented durian paste), ours could never match hers.

In the end, we put it down to air tangan mak, which has something to do with a mother's love that emanates through the taste of the dish, which is what makes it delicious beyond compare.

Mother's Day wasn't a traditional celebration in our family so we didn't celebrate it in a big way. But as the awareness of Mother's Day increased as the years went by, I'd call my mother and wish her. I even wrote letters to her — the old-fashioned way. She lived with my brother in our hometown in Ipoh, and only once did my trip to Ipoh coincide with Mother's Day. So we took her out for a good dinner in town.

I remember the times when it was Mother's Day and acquaintances would ask, 'So, what are you getting your mother?' For anyone who has lost a parent, such a well-meaning question prods you to revisit grief. But I try to have only happy thoughts about her. Like how she loved to travel.

Those days — in the 60s through early 90s — going away on holidays for my mother meant staying at relatives' houses, which served as the base for sightseeing nearby. Putting up the night in hotels was alien. To her conservative mind, hotels were associated with kupu-kupu malam (ladies of the night)!

This perception changed over time and she eventually became more open about it. But still, if she could avoid staying in one, she would. So she'd join the large rombongan (group tours) by bus that travelled overnight, reaching the destination in the morning. And the tours would always be shopping tours!

Zahratun Aini dedicated her life to her family.

She loved going away with her sisters or friends for those outings. Their destinations? The border towns of Padang Besar in Perlis and Bukit Kayu Hitam in Kedah — both akin to shanty cowboy towns with hundreds of stalls selling cheap Thai products; and Rantau Panjang and Pengkalan Kubor in Kelantan, also straddling the Kelantan-Thai border. When Langkawi became a duty-free shopping haven, the ladies started to head there by the bus load.

The load of things that they carted away filled their bus to the brim – from pots and pans to crockery and the-then (and still) famous Corelle dinnerware. And every time they returned from such trips, they'd still bring home more pots and pans… and lots of stories.

It was also from such stories that I first knew that Toto wasn't just the 4D number! It's also synonymous with cheap comforters. My mother would say, 'I bought Toto for just RM25.' Guess what? Eventually, my own house was filled with more Totos and pots and pans than I actually needed. I didn't have the heart to refuse these when she kept giving them to me for I knew it brought her so much joy to give.

When her kidneys failed, the trips stopped and she became forlorn. But not for long. The feisty woman that she was, she turned her thrice-weekly dialysis sessions at the hospital as outings to look forward to. She'd pack home-cooked food as if she were going for a picnic. She even tried new recipes, cooked them and shared them with fellow patients, nurses and even doctors.

Far from being down when her blood was 'cleansed' during each four-hour dialysis session, she'd chat with any one sitting next to her. Eventually, she knew everyone who came for treatment. Whenever I accompanied her on such sessions, she'd whisper 'tales' about the goings-on in the ward. She remained cheerful despite her pain.

That was the best lesson I learned from her. No matter how bad a situation, always make the best of it. Never give up even when the odds are against you. It took me quite a while to get acquainted with the oddity of not hearing her chatter after she passed away. Oh, how I miss that. Mother's Day reminds me of her absence and it's not easy. But she's there… always present in my mind.

R Susaymah lost her father at age 10.

SUPER MUM

R. Susaymah a/p K. Raja, 66. Housewife. Two brothers and five sisters.

Mother: Antonette Soosai.

Passed away: From old age, age 76.

My mother was a devoted housewife, simple and hardworking, with a love for sewing and cleaning. Among my five sisters, I was the closest to her. I remember her being a loving mother but one who was a stickler for discipline. She always ensured that we carried out our duties — and to do it well.

Just like other doting mothers, she'd do the housework without complaint and took care of the kids. Even when I got married, she continued to treat me like a princess. And this treatment was extended to my husband. Whenever she stayed with us, she'd iron his clothes and polish his shoes! She loved my husband, just like her own son.

Simple and hardworking mother.

Thinking back, she taught through her actions and the way she lived her life. I learned so many lessons from her; perhaps the most obvious are independence, being a good homemaker and also the importance of being able to converse in English. She studied in a Convent so her English was good.

We did celebrate Mother's Day with her but modestly as we weren't well off back then. But she'd be contented with our wishes. All she wanted on that special day was to be surrounded by her children.

I miss her a lot. I can never forget how she took on the role of both father and mother for us when we lost father. I was only ten. She nurtured and took care of us singlehandedly.

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