House doesn’t seem to be the same. I often find myself walking past my daughter's empty bedroom, feeling a pang of sadness every time. Her room is exactly as she left it, a silent testament to her presence. The tears come unexpectedly, triggered by the smallest reminders of her.

And what about my mommy lists? Every night I am habitual of creating a mental note about what time to get up, what to pack for their tiffin, how to schedule my day so that I am back home before the kids get back from school, what to make for lunch. Not only that, thoughts like, are there enough paper sheets in the house for them to take printouts if they need to, is there milk for coffee, is there enough coffee at the first place? I have made these lists for the last 22 years, every single day. Sometimes mental, sometimes on paper.

 It was the month of July. The time of the year that used to be the most action packed. It used to be the time for kids to go back to school with new uniforms & new shoes as they would outgrow them every year, new Books, which were to be bought, covered and labelled. Pens, pencils, notebooks, geometry boxes, and so on. A lot used to happen during this month of the year. The lists seemed never ending. And it was fun to strike off the things that were done. I look at my diary and notice that everything is already struck off! It looks weird. Have I completed everything that I was supposed to do? What next?

So I pick up a new page. It’s time to make a list for myself, and I’m figuring out where to begin.