Losing my nanny whom I called Mama
The last time I was badly affected by grief was when I lost my mother-in-law. May 2020, it was the last Friday of Ramadhan. It was so bad I checked in with the doctor for my mental wellness in October 2020.
I didn’t realise the 5 years of therapy were the cushions I needed to soften my next impending grief.
On a fateful Monday 8th December 2025, I received a text that my Mama – the nanny who babysat me from when I was a 3 month-old baby, was terminally ill. It was only 6 months prior she was diagnosed with late-stage brain cancer; a tumour was growing on the right side of her brain.
I was up north in Subang Jaya for WordCamp Malaysia 2025 as a speaker. I was due to make my way to Kuala Lumpur and stay for another 4 days. But as soon as the news hit me, I made changes to my travel plans.
My husband Wan and I made our way out of Kuala Lumpur on the first and only train to Johor Bahru the very next day. We left at dawn before the sun even rose. We finally arrived at Mama’s place in the evening just before sunset. All of Mama’s children were all there, too.
As soon as I saw Mama from her bedroom door, I couldn’t recognise her. Her once well-built physique was now shrunken to skin and bones. She was in and out of conscience but would react to voices by only her right eye. Her left eyelid couldn’t open anymore.
I grabbed her hand, kissed it many times while flashes of the days she would feed me with it came to mind. I couldn’t help my tears looking at her in such a state. I took some time to compose myself before stroking her hair and kissing her cheek.
“Mama, Adik datang jumpa Mama. Adik sayang Mama.”
“Mama, I’m here to see you. I love you, Mama.”
Abang Lan, Mama’s 3rd child was constantly by her side. Ever so often he stroked her hair, placed his hand on her chest, making sure she was comfortable. Once, she frowned and Abang Lan administered her pain killer through injection.
A few moments after, she looked more at ease, and she opened her right eye, as if looking around. She blinked slowly every now and then at our voices speaking around her. I went to her left so she could hear me with her good ear.
I spoke to her slowly, telling her I was there to visit her and that I love her. I stroked her hair and kissed her forehead a couple of times.
After spending some time reading Yasin by her bedside and catching up with her children, we left after 9pm.
We finally arrived home at 11pm after a whole day of travelling from dawn.
I spent the following day trying to rest but I was restless. Whatever I tried to do, I’d end up crying. I felt an immense loss but at the same time I was grappling to understand why I wasn’t fated to visit her in the last couple of years.
I tried to soothe myself with memories I’ve had with Mama. Cherishing the times I remember our conversations. Every time whenever we met, Mama would always cup my face with her hands. She will never fail to kiss my cheeks. Her hugs were a warm embrace reminding me of my safe childhood with her.
Those were the memories I am meant to keep. Those were the warmth I am meant to cherish. Oh how graceful God is with me.
The following day, 11th December 2025, just after fajr the morning prayer, I received a text of Mama’s passing. I spent a good hour crying out but managed to pull myself together to make my way to her place.
Arriving just in time before Mama was shrouded, and I was able to join in the congregation for Mama’s last prayer.
The journey from the east to where the Muslim cemetery is in the west felt excruciatingly far. I managed to read Yasin twice in the journey, in between sobs. It was my final parting gift for Mama.
The solemn steps from the bus to the burial ground were heavy. As Mama’s sons lowered her body into her grave, I could only whisper a salam and a faint “Goodbye, Mama. May we meet again in Jannahtul Firdaus.”
Allahummagh firlaha warhamha wa’afihi wa’fuanha. Allahumma Aameen.
