It seems for me—as for Nyoshul—that my mother was also my teacher in many ways. Whenever I think of my mother, the same raw emotion comes up, as it did when I was with Rinpoche. I remember his face when he spoke of his own mother, and the sense of transmission becomes a seamless flow between us all. My mother was a much-loved woman in her community. Her neighbours have no hesitation in telling me what a wonderful mother I had. The major hope of my life is that I might be remembered as having even half the kindness, generosity, and thoughtfulness which characterised my mother.
