This morning, one with less food and more hussle, as I rushed to closed the gate behind our car whizzing out the driveway, I saw the Motia bush in full bloom.

My eyes blurred with tears just long enough for me to realise this will massacre the mascara. I was missing Ammi and feeling excessively guilty at not meeting the benchmark of a good Eid, where everyone is well fed despite a late Eid announcement. I missed the Eid cooking, I missed the Firni this Ramzan. In my mind I failed her but then she shows up in these beloved blooms. Telling me she still loves me.

When I was really young I’d see her get sad at the end of Ramzan at the thought whether she will live to see the next Ramzan or not. I very quickly got on that bandwagon and before I knew it I would really get a heartache every Ramzan at the thought that it is close to ending. I still do.

Ammi is with me in those moments.

In the despair and uncertainty whether we live to see another Ramzan and in these fragrant handful of Motia that I was quickly able to grab as I flew out of the house.

Ammi came to see me for Eid.

Eid Mubarak Ammi. There’s no one like you.