This is a piece I wrote in 2008. I was still a teenager.
" My mom is the Mona Lisa of my life: in a frame, forever an enigma. The light plays tricks on the photograph I have of her on my desk and I can almost discern some expression on her face at times. She is my conscience, my inner voice personified. Like every mother, she has to be convinced before I take any decisions, argued with to obtain permissions and her happiness is of utmost importance. She's my strength and when I am faced with an obstacle, all I do is ask her to be with me. She's always there, mind you. She's been my torch in several dark alleys and my only consolation when I lie alone on my bed, cursing the universe for all its faults.
There are times, when I come to my senses and cry, for I miss her sorely and wish that I could be like all those other carefree girls out there, gallivanting freely without a scruple to have them do otherwise. And then there are times, when I hate her for leaving, leaving my father and brother to fend for themselves. I despise her for the pain she has caused her own mother, and the fear she evoked in her father. Those are the days when I feel that her death is the root of all evil in my life and she, being the one who deserted me, is the only one to blame. But, in a kinder mood, I forgive her for all and thank her watching over me as I stumble through my sorry existence like a lone boat with a tattered sail that has weathered many a harsh storm and might give in to the dark designs of the mighty ocean any time.
When I am in a more peaceful state of my mind, I believe that this unearthly relationship that I have with my mother is better than the conventional ones. Though it may sound twisted in more than one way, I can assure you it is even more so. For one, she is always with me; in her corporeal form she might not have been able to accompany me everywhere but as this ethereal being she never once has left my side. For another, I am a better person as I consider the fact that she looks upon wherever I am before I do anything; this renders me incapable of committing crimes of any nature legal, moral, ethical and all the other sorts that, I might have, had she not been hovering over my shoulder constantly. There are, indeed, other small reasons that I have benefitted from unorthodox maternal influence, such as my emotional maturity, my love for all those around me and my confidence that He cannot possibly inflict more suffering upon my loved ones.
She has watched over me like a guardian angel for a long time now, and I feel that once she finds me more capable of taking care of my own self, she will bid me adieu forever. And although her vigilant spirit will have taken leave, her image will remain forever etched upon my heart and the back of my eyes, with those mischievous eyes and that mysterious smile. "
I don't converse with the ghost of my mother anymore. I have, however, undertaken a mission to get to know her as she was more deeply and truly. But I wanted to share this with you, perhaps it will help some of you out there. And sharing helps me heal.