Happy Birthday, Ma ❤️
I had actually planned to have this printed properly for you and given to you with your gifts, because sending something like this as a Google Doc just felt a little sad. 😄
I didn’t manage to get it printed in time, so this is Plan B.
I hope having your own little webpage isn’t weird 😂 — I promise I haven’t completely lost the plot. I just wanted you to have something a little more personal than a normal WhatsApp message.
I’ve been sitting here for quite a while trying to figure out what to write, and I realised that no matter how many times I started over, one thought kept coming back to me…
Some people make a house feel like a home.
You’re one of those people.
Three weeks ago, you and Amy walked through our front door for the very first time. What you didn’t know was that, just before you arrived, I had fallen off a scooter like an absolute chop. 😂
I scraped my knees, my arms, my chin, my back… pretty much everything except my pride, because I was trying very hard to pretend nothing had happened.
I welcomed you both in, told you to make yourselves at home, and quietly disappeared into the bathroom where I proceeded to pour 100% alcohol over freshly grated skin. If either of you heard anything, you probably thought poor Jacky had finally had enough of me and was giving me a proper hiding with a wooden spoon… or maybe even a sloffie. 😄
I didn’t want your first memory of our home to be chaos.
I wanted it to be peaceful.
Looking back now, I find it beautifully ironic.
While you and Amy were moving your lives out of your home, you somehow made ours feel more like one.
I never actually decided to call you “Ma.”
It simply happened.
It felt natural.
When someone asked me why, I realised I didn’t really have an answer.
I think some people simply have a warmth about them that makes you feel comfortable, welcome and cared for.
You’re one of those people.
So somewhere between the conversations, the laughs, and you making yourself at home in ours, “Karen” quietly became “Ma.”
And somehow, it just stuck. 😄
Over these past few weeks, I’ve come to admire you more than you probably realise.
Not because life has always been kind to you…
But because despite everything, you’ve remained kind to life.
I’ve learnt about some of the sacrifices you’ve made, the difficult choices you’ve faced, and the countless times you’ve put the people you love ahead of yourself.
You chose dignity when it would have been easier to choose comfort.
You worked hard to make sure Amy had the means to travel between Johannesburg and Cape Town so that she could have a relationship with her father — even though making that possible was never an obligation you had to carry.
You could have stepped back and said it wasn’t your responsibility.
Instead, you put Amy first.
You gave your time, your effort and your own hard-earned money because you understood that what mattered wasn’t what you were required to do, but what you believed was best for your daughter.
I think that says an incredible amount about the kind of mother you are.
You kept showing up.
You kept providing.
And you kept putting your child ahead of yourself, even when nobody could have expected it from you.
And I think one of the most beautiful things about that is the way it carries forward.
You didn’t just raise Amy.
You helped shape the strength, compassion and resilience that she now carries into raising Noah.
When people look at Noah one day, they’ll see Amy’s love.
What they may never realise is how much of the woman and mother Amy became was shaped by the woman who raised her.
That’s a beautiful legacy.
One thing I’ve noticed about you is that you have a way of making people feel comfortable without even trying.
You make people feel like they belong.
You made complete strangers feel welcome in a matter of days.
That’s incredibly rare.
Thank you for every conversation.
Even the long ones. 😄
Truth be told… I enjoy every one of them.
You make our house feel alive.
You make it feel warm.
You make it feel like home.
And for that, I’ll always be grateful.
Most of all…
Thank you for making me feel like someone who matters to you.
For the warmth, the conversations, the laughs, and for making our home feel that little bit more alive while we’ve been away.
We really hope you enjoy your birthday and your gifts.
They’re only a small reminder of how appreciated you are.
And before Jacky and Amy suddenly develop selective memory and claim the personalised gift box was all their idea…
cough…
I’m just quietly reminding everyone that personalised gifts are still undefeated. 😌😂
As a Muslim, one of the most meaningful things I can give someone is a sincere du’ā — a prayer made for their wellbeing.
Although our faiths may be different, I hope you’ll accept this prayer from me in the spirit in which it is intended: with gratitude, respect and sincere appreciation.
I pray that Allah blesses you with good health, peace, strength and happiness.
May He reward every sacrifice you’ve made, every act of kindness you’ve shown, and every moment you’ve chosen love when life made things difficult.
May He fill your home with laughter, your heart with contentment, and your days with countless blessings.
And I pray that the One who created us all continues to draw you closer to Him, surrounds you with His mercy, increases you in wisdom, and guides you always towards what is true, beautiful and everlasting.
Āmīn.
Happy Birthday, Ma.
Thank you…
For raising an incredible daughter.
For loving an incredible grandson.
And for reminding me that some of the greatest people in this world are also the most humble.
May you always know how deeply appreciated you are.
With lots of love,
Mudathir ❤️
(…with a little help from Jacky, and Amy who will probably still try to claim the gift box.) 😌
P.S. Thank you for giving our house a heartbeat while we were away. It never felt empty because you were there. ❤️