I’ve long made fun of my mother for her adoration of her ‘precious’, that is, her son. It doesn't help matters that my mother has just one son. Growing up as a girl in a family with both boys and girls, a sister cannot help but notice the undeniable inclination of a mother towards her son.
As a mother of a son myself, I have started to see the world of motherhood through my mother’s eyes. I often try to imagine how it would have been if I had a girl first or if I had both a girl and a boy. I know for certain that mothers love their children equally, but the bond between mother and son is on a much greater scale than that between mother and daughter, which is why it is often confused with favouritism.
Fathers and daughters, too, also have that special bond. While my mother is preoccupied with her preciousness, my father is surrounded by the unwavering love of his daughters. Throughout history, people have discussed the predisposition of families in favouring sons over daughters. While there have been a lot of contributing cultural and social factors, the one thing that we overlook is simply the bond between mothers and sons.
My bond with my child started long before conception. I imagined my child for months before I was even ready to have him. I built his image in my head, I wished for him to get certain qualities, I even named him long before his journey into existence started. By the time I was pregnant with him, the bond had already solidified. I had my ultrasound late, almost at six months. While the boy floated around his comfy home with his legs crossed, I already knew his gender.
The bond between mother and son is not special. It is at the core of Mother Nature. It’s the yin and the yang that connect the missing part. It is a bond unlike any other in the world. A bond that exists long before life and continues long after death.
Last week, we received a message that it had been 48 years since my father's mother died. For context, my father is about to turn 75 years old this year. His mother has been gone for twice the number of years that he actually lived with her, but he has not forgotten about her for a single day! He finds her height in me, he sees her nose in my eldest sister and her hair in my other sister.
My father doesn't talk much about his mother. Perhaps some memories are starting to fade, but he remembers the bond he had with her. A bond that has continued for almost five decades after her death and a bond that will continue long after both of them are no longer living.
