SINGAPORE – In the run-up to Mother’s Day on May 10, I finally read something that has been on my to-read list for a while. The 2021 local book Letter To My Mother: Words Of Love And Perspectives On Growing Up From Sons And Daughters is a collection of 20 essays by contributors sharing their thoughts and feelings about their mothers.

Many of the writers expressed love and admiration for their mothers. They wrote of how their parents inspired and influenced them, and how much their mothers or both parents had given to them. How blessed they were. How grateful.

One talked about her mother’s dedication and care when she was struggling with the effects of kidney disease.

Shared another: “I would not be where I am, were it not for the moments I watched and learnt from you.”

Not all the accounts were cosy and comfortable. Not all families were intact or supportive. One writer spoke of “hurt, hate and resentment”, but also said: “I miss you, you know?”

Regret surfaced often.

“I have never told you this, but when I was living in New York, I looked forward to your phone call every day.”

Why do we never say enough to our loved ones when they are around?

Author and poet Felix Cheong, who edited the collection, wrote in the foreword: “I never got round to a last conversation with Mum in her final days. Discharged from Changi General Hospital on Christmas Eve, 2019, she was living on borrowed time, with only one lung doing the work of two.”

After her death, he recalled: “Over the next few weeks, I would be haunted by what I did not manage to say to Mum. All the thanks I could have offered; all the memories I could have told her that I cherish; all the things she had taught me; all the sacrifices she had made to bring us up – and I said nothing.”

I’m as guilty of silence as much as anyone else. I started writing in this space when my mum was still ali...