For you, Mother of an Angel

For you, Mother of an Angel

For you, Mother of an Angel, by Karuna Pataudi

Jules. Thinking of you and Joseph. I know how hard this month is for you. I can’t find the right words to bring comfort. Because there are none. But know how proud I am of you. You made it! You wrote the book . You did it for him. Major accomplishment. I cannot imagine him not looking down at you proud of his mommy for doing this to honor him. I’m seriously amazed right now.Apart from the 10 million other things you do for the world. There are just no words to respect your strength. You’re love inside and out. This book will soothe, will change lives, I have no doubt. I do not know what to say except there must be a higher purpose to this. With you with all my heart and spirit. Every step of the way. In everything you do. I love you

For you, Mother of an Angel

Since my child has been gone, I have biked hundreds of miles. I have spoken to myself a million times asking God: “Why him? Why me? Why this?” Since my child has been gone , I have fought a thousand battles so that others don’t have to spend those sleepless nights I did… Asking these same questions

For a while after he was gone, I forgot what my face looked like. I stopped waving to my neighbors. Or to kids playing on the block. I was no longer the friendly blond girl living in the house next door with the white picket fence. I stopped smiling at the elderly couple at the park making small talk. When walking on a narrow sidewalk, I was no longer the one to graciously give way. I stopped meeting people’s eyes on crowded streets. In case they smiled at me. Too drained to smile. I stopped asking cashiers at grocery stores how their day was going. I ate alone when I had to drive whole nights staying in motel rooms. I did not want to be around people having a good time.

I stayed away from proud parents with cute pumpkins in their Halloween costumes, I avoided those summer barbecues with people all fussing at the same time over the little things that happened at their kids’ elementary schools, high schools or universities or talking about how their kid is all grown up now and planning a wedding. I got wary when I saw pictures of people vacationing or people at diners having a Mac and Cheese with their young sons or daughters and watch them wipe the corners of their mouths with a napkin. I got tired of seeing life in motion. I got mad and sad at the same time. Everything else in everybody’s lives had not changed. But my son was gone.

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