It’s been a while since my last post; weekends are the time I usually write but the last several have left me with no free time, despite my desire to write a post for some time now. Thanks to the end of Daylight Savings Time today, I find myself with one extra hour (the only perk, I must say!) and a chance to finally share what’s been on my mind.

Today I’d like to reflect about one of my most special memories with my mom. It’s a memory that is so simple and un-extraordinary, yet very much unforgettable.

Over the years, I’ve of course had one-on-one time with my mom, but when she helped transition me into my new job, home, and life in London a few years ago, that was the most time we’d spent together just us. I blame it on middle-child syndrome; Sanam would’ve gotten a fair amount of one-on-one time in her first one and a half years of life (before I came along and snatched it away), and Nikhil would have too when Sanam and I left the house and he became an only child at home.

Okay, I’m not actually complaining — one of the best things about my family is our closeness, and that closeness has come from spending time all together. But there’s certainly also something special about getting one-on-one time with individual family members, as I learnt when I got my mom to myself over two wonderfully special weeks in London.

Back in September 2012, my mom and I headed across the pond as I prepared to start my first full-time job with the Royal Bank of Scotland. We arrived on the Friday before the Monday I was to start work. The plan was that we would view apartments that weekend with the goal of finding me a place to live as soon as possible.

While back home, my dad found an online listing for an apartment in Clapham, the neighborhood in London that I wanted to live in. On the Friday afternoon, my mom and I checked out one property that I didn’t love, prior to venturing over to the apartment my dad had found. And that’s the apartment I decided to call home. By the next day, everything had amazingly fallen into place and I had the keys to the place with time to spare.

So, my mom and I moved into my apartment with my limited university belongings, and then went on to stock the place with everything else. You may have heard the infamous shopping cart story, which I won’t repeat here — but yes, it took place this weekend. We re-arranged the furniture in the apartment, filled the cabinets, and it started to feel ever so slightly more like my new home.

That Monday, I started work. On my first day of work, my mom woke up early with me and walked me to the tube station. She prayed for me along the way, then gave me a hug before we parted and walked back to my place. Every morning she walked with me, prayed for me, and hugged me. I couldn’t ask for a better start to my day.

Each day while I was at work, my mom would organize my apartment, whether it was getting artwork hung up or topping up my electricity key or getting towel rods installed. She arranged for the landlord to get me a new sofa cover, because the sofa wasn’t in great shape — something I wouldn’t have thought to do myself. I remember seeing the white couch now draped in a red cover that the landlord had picked out, thinking it totally clashed with the green carpeting — but that red couch soon became something I loved.

My mom would have dinner waiting for me when I’d come back from work, and we’d eat together and then get into bed. She’d hold me close and I’d welcome it, which I have to point out as I am not a touchy-feely person and often cringe when others try to snuggle me (Sanam knows this well!) — but I loved being snuggled by my mom. We’d sit in bed and watch Downton Abbey; as I had no wifi yet, and my TV was in my living room, our only choice was to watch on my laptop the DVD set that my university housemates gave to me for my birthday. Watching Downton Abbey together became our thing; when I moved back home in 2014, my mom and I picked up watching where we left off, this time in her bed.

One weekend, I remember we went for a lovely roast dinner at the local pub, as my mom and I were both fans. (For you non-UK readers — many British families have a tradition of eating a roast meal every Sunday afternoon. Quite cute, no?)

After two weeks, it was time for my mom to fly home. I remember feeling so sad when she left — I even remember sitting in a room with my new colleagues, telling them how I was going to miss her — I never wanted to her go.

I know my words and paragraphs can’t capture how special these two weeks with my mom were — for those of you reading, I’m aware this probably sounds like a very ordinary period. But this time with my mom is one of my fondest memories in my entire life. During that time, my mom set me up for what soon became the happiest period in my life — a period during which I grew in faith, in maturity, in confidence, and in relationships, including with her, despite the distance.

On top of this, these two weeks also highlight some of my mom’s special qualities: her faith (her praying for me every morning on our walk to the tube station), her ability to turn a house into a home (how she creatively helped me set up my apartment), her caring and love (needs no explanation). And that we could spend two weeks together and at the end of it, I wanted her to stay with me forever — when I imagine many mothers and daughters would’ve been ready to pull each other’s hair out!

I’ve been very fortunate in my life to have gone on wonderful travels and exciting adventures. And many of those have been incredible and I am grateful for them. But none have touched my heart in the same way that these two weeks, just Mom and me, did.

Life’s simple pleasures are sometimes the sweetest.