For Muhamad Hafiz (right), Ramadan and Eid will never be the same without Ummi (left), but he knows her spirit remains with loved ones. — MUHAMAD HAFIZ ZAINUDEEN
Rasheedah Bee Bee Mohamed Mydin – my mother, whom we call Ummi – was a truly beautiful soul, known for her kindness and love.
The youngest of 11 siblings, she was the one they all turned to for support and care. Despite her position as the youngest, she became the pillar of the family, always ensuring the well-being of those around her.
A devoted wife and a loving mother to five sons, she embodied strength and compassion.
For over 25 years, Ummi worked at Majlis Bandaraya Pulau Pinang, earning respect for her dedication, warmth and strong work ethic. Despite her demanding career, she never failed to balance her responsibilities as a mother and wife.
No matter how busy she was, she always had time for her family, greeting us with a smile and a heart full of love.
On Aug 1, 2023, we lost Ummi to cancer. The news was sudden, and even now, it feels surreal that she is no longer with us. Her absence is especially painful during Ramadan and Eid – two occasions she made extraordinary every year.
This will be our second Ramadan and Eid without Ummi, and the void she left behind is immense.
I still picture her preparing for Ramadan – cleaning, organising and making sure everything was in place. She would keep herself busy, and I regret the times I avoided helping, especially with folding the bedsheets. Now, I wish I could go back and do anything just to feel her presence again.
During Ramadan, Ummi was always the first to wake up for her midnight prayers before preparing sahur. The aroma of food would gently wake me and my brothers, accompanied by a hot cup of delicious Milo she always offered.
Despite her demanding job, she effortlessly balanced her roles as a mother, wife and devout Muslim. She taught us the true meaning of love, faith and dedication.
Breaking fast together was a cherished ritual. Ummi would prepare multiple dishes, ensuring everyone’s favourites were included.
We would sit together, share stories and laugh – moments I miss the most. I long for those days when we gathered as a family, enjoying meals infused with her love and care.
Eid preparations were always a grand affair with Ummi. She ensured we had new clothes from innerwear to outerwear, paying attention to every detail.
This year, Eid feels different. The excitement of picking out new clothes and preparing together is gone. The emptiness is profound, and her absence is deeply felt.
One of my fondest memories is making muruku with Ummi for Raya. It was her signature dish, and we would spend hours in the kitchen, laughing and sharing stories.
The process was fun yet exhausting, but the results were always worth it. The smell of fried muruku and the joy of those moments are memories I will treasure forever.
Her ayam ros and dalca were staples for Eid – always accompanied by her rich, flavourful teh tarik.
Every meal she made was an act of love, and it is difficult to enjoy these dishes without her. Yet, I take comfort in the memories of her cooking, laughter, and unwavering devotion to her family.
With Ramadan ending and Eid approaching, I am reminded of all the moments we shared with Ummi.
Although her absence is painful, I find solace in knowing she is in a better place. Allah’s plan is greater than ours, and I believe we will reunite in paradise one day.
I strive to honour her legacy by embodying the kindness, love and dedication she showed every day.
Ramadan and Eid will never be the same without her, but I know her spirit remains with us. Her love and wisdom continue to guide me, and that is what keeps me going.
Ummi, you will forever be in my heart. May Allah grant you eternal peace, and may we meet again in paradise, God willing.
