It’s easy to overlook the small stuff in life. Most of us have been reminded of this over the last few months in not being able to do the everyday things we’re used to, like popping out to run a quick errand, grabbing a bite at a restaurant, or going to see a movie. For the first time in many of our lives, we’re giving thought to these things because they’re no longer things we’re able to do.

It’s reminiscent of the parallel that exists with how I think about my mom. Over the course of writing this blog, I’ve regularly reflected on experiences or memories I never used to think as much about, simply because I was blessed with her company. But these days, I do spend a lot of time thinking about these experiences and memories and giving new weight to them. Today, I’m sharing the same kind of reflection, this time about the everyday things that were a standard part of our life together. The small things.

A little context on this post: Last week, I was lying in bed thinking about some of these things. I was wavering between heavier longing to be with her and lighter reminiscence of fond times together, a frequent occurrence. I consciously decided to try to shift my mind to the lighter thinking to help myself get to bed. And with that, I thought, wouldn’t this make for a nice blog post. So, here we are.

One of the biggest, smallest things (get it?) I was thinking about that night was how nice it was that my mom consistently and regularly prayed over me. Growing up, my mom would tuck me into bed every night and we’d pray together. This was a daily ritual – one of the most consistent memories I have growing up was her tucking me in.

I’d call for her, get into bed, and she’d come kneel by my bedside for us to pray, ahead of hugging and kissing me and sending me off to sleep. I remember this all the way back to when we lived in Taiwan. I can’t recall when this bedtime routine stopped – probably around high school, when I started sleeping later than her – but the praying itself never stopped; it just evolved. I mentioned in a previous post that during the two weeks we spent together in London, she prayed for me as we walked together to the train station ahead of work, and she did the same thing years later when she drove me to the train station in Pleasanton for work. And she prayed for me all the time in between, whether in person or or not.

Being prayed over by my mom is something I miss a lot. I felt so loved and reassured knowing that the person I loved and trusted so much was praying for my safety, growth, and joy each and every day. It was a real comfort. As I lay in bed the other week thinking about this, I was feeling the void left behind from no longer experiencing this comfort.

A few days after this, Nikhil was in the middle of projecting his laptop screen onto the TV to show us something he’d been working on. A reminder flashed on his computer calendar: “Pray for Mika.” I asked what this was and he said it was just a simple reminder for him to pray for me.

And what a meaningful thing for me to see. My mom praying for me will always be something I miss and want, but how apt and nice to be reminded that her son, my brother, is doing the same. (And yes, I know there are others who love me who are doing so as well.) Sometimes I forget, in the midst of missing my mom, but sometimes, I also get reminded.

Another “small” thing I was thinking about – albeit less poignant than the last – was about a different type of comfort. It was the comfort that came from driving with my mom. For some reason, during the years after I’d gotten my driver’s license, I found it relaxing to be driven around by my mom. I think it’s because I had the ability to drive and would usually drive myself, but when we went somewhere together I could still look to her to drive me. If I had to psychoanalyze, I might say it felt as if she was taking care of me by choosing to drive me.

A few memories in the car specifically stick out to me. One is us regularly listening to BBC World News together in her black Lexus via satellite radio. The other is stopping by her real estate office; sometimes she had papers to pick up or drop off, and she knew I’d be keen to pop inside to grab a coffee from the Keurig machine with my favorite vanilla Coffee-Mate creamer. I don’t even know why I liked that coffee; the quality was pretty blah. But for whatever reason, my palate was keen and it always felt like a small treat stopping by her office. Even as she moved offices, we continued to make this outing when I’d visit back home during a break from college or work.

A third thing we’d do together is bake desserts. I can’t remember, but at some point (probably during my tween or early teen years), my mom shared with me her recipes for banana bread and fruit crumble, and I took over making them. What I do remember though is us enjoying them together; I have the specific memory of making these desserts after dinner, and by the time it’d take the 40-50 minutes to bake my parents would already be in bed reading or watching TV, so I’d bring up a bowl for my mom to nibble from bed.

We also made and enjoyed crème brûlée together in this way; we once tried it at a hotel restaurant and loved it – and ended up snagging the ramekin it was served in, somehow; it continues to sit in the cupboard today – so decided to start making it. We bought one of those kits that includes a mini blowtorch and individually-sized ramekins, and kicked off our crème brûlée creations. The funny thing is I don’t actually have much of a sweet tooth, but I did develop a soft spot for all the sweet treats we shared together.

These three examples are but a few of the countless small things we did and enjoyed together. And small they may be, or felt at the time, but each has made a big and enduring imprint on my life.