When a mother means much more

My mother passed away last week in Karachi's Aga Khan University Hospital. It was the same hospital where I saw her last some five years back. She had made a full recovery then. Well, almost. However, it was different this time around. We were sort of expecting the news since her overall condition was deterioting every day. Why was the impact so much more?
I don't know about anyone else in my family but I was her youngest child and we were close -- even in her death. The last three times I went to Karachi it was when my brother died, next my sister passed away not so long after my brother's death, and, my latest trip, was when I had been told that my mother is in intensive care and she wouldn't make it. I had rushed to see her one last time. But she survived.
I went to the hospital straight from the airport and to the ICU. I remember very vivdly that I took her hand in mine, just to feel her or perhaps, to connect with her in my own way. Suddenly, I felt a gentle squeeze. I leaned closer to her as she was trying to say something. She whispered, "So you made it my son."
I knew that my Amma, or mother, wasn't ready to make the journey to the other world... just yet. And, like I knew what needed to be done, I started asking the doctors about the possibility of placing a pace maker device in her. It was done the very next day and Amma was back from dead.
I left Pakistan the same day she was discharged from the hospital. I have not been back since. I spent two full days with her after the operation. I had come back thinking what a great piece of invention the pace maker was. It made me my mother good as new. All hail and hearty. However, while on board my flight back to Singapore, I said a quiet prayer in my heart to my Amma sans the pace maker.
My Allah rest her soul in peace.