โ๐พ๐พ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ?โ๏ธ
To me, it is the voice of Mary Nieves Wamala Nakalungi, calling with quiet fidelity to inquire after my well-being. I know her, simply and wholly, as Mother.
I know, too, that she will read this almost as soon as I set it down, such is her attentive love, and I hope, when she does, that it brings a gentle smile to her face, the kind she so often gives to others without ceremony.
This piece is but a humble attempt to honour her, though I write under no illusion that language can suffice. Words, however, carefully chosen, fall short. And yet, they are all I possess; so I lay them, with reverence, at her feet.
Above all, I give thanks for her steadfast calls, their quiet intrusion upon my days, rendering them lighter, however heavy their beginning. They unfailingly lead me to laughter: a soft, liberating laughter that loosens the chest and reminds me that life has not, after all, triumphed over us.
It is my prayer that she may flourish like the palm and grow strong like the cedar of Lebanon; and that we may continue, together, to laugh, at the world, at ourselves, and at whatever turns life may yet unfold before us.
Happy Motherโs Day to you, Mummy, the most singular woman I know. ๐ท
To the Most Singular Woman I Know!
My mother is a woman of quiet and enduring miracles, in whose hands there rests a healing touch, and in whose spirit, there dwells a gentle, abiding mirth, one that rises softly even when the weight of life presses heavily upon the heart. She possesses an intellect at once discerning and composed, keen in its observation, and so finely attuned to the gradual unfolding of the world that she seems almost to anticipate its tidings before they are spoken. It is as though little escapes her notice, and less still fails to be understood.
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The contrivances of this modern age do not disquiet her; she meets them with an ease that suggests not novelty, but quiet mastery. The internet itself, vast and restless though it may be, is to her no foreign domain, but merely another thoroughfare along which her curiosity may proceed, steady and unafraid. In this, as in all things, she is guided not by haste, but by confidence.
There is in her a wit both lively and restrained, capable of correcting without severity, and of delighting without excess. She speaks, and in her speech, there is something at once gentle and unyielding, a quiet authority that instructs even as it charms. Her strength is of that noble kind which makes no demand to be seen; her patience keeps no account; and her kindness flows so naturally that one might almost believe it neither learned nor chosen but placed within her from the beginning.
Yet she is not untouched by trial. Rather, she meets it with a spirit that does not easily bow. In difficult hours, she does not relinquish her cheer, but softens circumstance with a measured grace, and reminds those near her that joy, though often subdued, is seldom extinguished. One sees, in her example, that even care itself may be made lighter when borne with quiet courage.
With a constancy most tender, she watches over me still, reaching across both silence and distance, sometimes as expected, and sometimes with a timeliness that feels almost providential. Her calls are not merely spoken exchanges, but gentle reassurances: that I am remembered, regarded, and held in a thought both constant and kind.
She forgives readily and gives without reluctance. Hers is a heart well acquainted with sacrifice yet never hardened by it. In her, love is not confined to words, but made visible in action, in steadfast presence, in quiet generosity, and in that rare and gracious ability to make space for others, even when her own burdens are not light.
Thus do I honour her: my mother, whose hands soothe, whose mind perceives, whose heart enlarges all that comes within its reach. May she flourish as the palm tree, graceful, upright, and enduring; may she grow as the cedar in Lebanon, deeply rooted, nobly raised, and unmoved by the shifting of seasons. As it is written, โThe righteous shall flourish like the palm tree: he shall grow like a cedar in Lebanonโ (Psalm 92:12).
May her days be met with gentleness, and her path attended by quiet joys. May every kindness she bestows return to her, increased beyond measure. And may she ever find delight in both the simple and the curious things of this life, swift knowledge, cheerful laughter, and children who do not fail to recognise, even in their busiest hours, what a profound and abiding blessing it is to be loved by her.
Happy Motherโs Day Mummy. ๐ท
โฆ.
๐ผ๏ธTitle of artwork: ๐๐ฒ ๐๐๐ญ๐ก๐๐๐ซ๐๐ฅ ยฉ 2026 By Ednah Rebeccah
๐จ๐๐๐๐ข๐ฎ๐ฆ: ๐๐ช๐จ๐ช๐ต๐ข๐ญ ๐ฎ๐ช๐น๐ฆ๐ฅ-๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฅ๐ช๐ข ๐ฑ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ต๐ณ๐ข๐ช๐ต ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ ๐๐ง๐ณ๐ฐ-๐ค๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ต๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฑ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ข๐ณ๐บ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ญ๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ฆ, ๐ด๐ต๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ค๐ช๐ญ ๐ต๐ฆ๐น๐ต๐ถ๐ณ๐ฆ, ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฑ๐ฐ๐ด๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ-๐ข๐ณ๐ต ๐ช๐ฏ๐ง๐ญ๐ถ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ค๐ฆ
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