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The silent social worker
It was during the post-war years when everything looked grim. I, the unfortunate one, was born bearing number 13! The situation became worse as my mother had serious post-natal complications. I was completely forgotten. Everyone tried to save her. A fat aunt might well have sat on me taking me for a bundle of clothes!
It was a time when mother and daughter often gave birth at the same period. My eldest sister had lost her new-born baby and she came to take care of my mother. She breast-fed me and took care of me. She was my mother! I’ve lost her. It hurts. I owe my love and respect to that great lady who is also known as “the silent social worker”. My eldest sister and my mother. May her soul rest in peace.
<B>Kum</B>
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