34 Months Without Mum:

The World Still Holds Her, But I Cannot 

Mum, the world goes on, but I do not, because everywhere I turn

there you are, reminders of you scattered like breadcrumbs

through my daily life, and yet, those reminders are not you, never will be

Ma, it has been 34 months since you suddenly departed from this universe, and somehow, despite the passage of time, the world keeps spinning, people keep laughing, the seasons keep turning, all while my world has stood still in a way no one can quite see, my life is still saturated with your excruciating absence, nearly three years of carrying on with my broken heart that will always be missing a piece, and yet, in so many ways, you never truly left, as the wind still whispers your name, and you are in sounds, in scents, in stillness, I see your smiling face in clouds, I hear your cheerful voice in my head, I smell your favourite flowers in the air, and I feel your charming presence in morning light, you are everywhere, but, you are gone, that is the cruelest part of grief

Ma, and even now, 34 months have come and gone, reminders of you are everywhere, but not you, not the sound of your little feet padding down the hallway, not your sparkling eyes meeting mine across the kitchen, not your infectious laughter filling a room, like birdsong in spring, these tiny fragments of you are everywhere, like a trail of stardust scattered across my days, but I cannot hold you, no matter how many memories I collect, how many goals I pursue, how damn hard I wish, how deeply I love you still, nothing, absolutely nothing, can bring you back, that is the agonising ache I have been carrying, that is the unrelenting truth I have been living with, which breaks my heart, again and again, every single day, however I keep going, learning to live without you 

Ma, in the early months after your unexpected passing, I thought that I could do something to reach you, I lit candles, I stared at your pictures, until they blurred into something almost living, I replayed old videos, just to hear you speaking, anything that might bring you a little closer, I talked to the night sky hoping you were listening, I begged the universe, bargained silently, and sometimes aloud, to send you back, just for a moment, just to hear your voice, just to see your smile, but silence always answered, I have tried everything, for the past 34 months, but still you are gone, I cannot bring you back, no ritual can summon you back, no desperate plea into the dark can undo what had done, no amount of tears can change this, no amount of yearning can reverse time

Ma, 34 months later, I no longer tell your story from the place of raw emotions that followed those early days, I have found, over time, the daily pain becomes manageable, life finds a way of weaving new patterns around the hole, instead, I now speak from a deeper, quieter ache, the kind that sinks into my bones, lives in the background of routines, becoming part of who I am, I have been desperately waiting for a moment that brings you back to us, but it never comes, what comes instead are pieces, gentle hauntings of who you were, though, there are still moments when I catch myself thinking you would love this or I should tell you about my day, and then, the correction, the brutal reality crashes back, you will never hear, you will never reply, you will never know 

Ma, grief holds two unbearable truths at once, you are gone, nothing will ever change that, you are everywhere, in everything, in everyone who loved you, since I have learned to live with this duality, for the last 34 months, the remorseless irony that, your memory is so alive in your painful absence, the way joy and sorrow now dance together, inseparable partners, the knowledge that love does not disappear, but the body does, and that hurts me so hard, even those memories are slippery, some are sharp and vivid, others are fading, no matter how hard I hang on to them, that terrifies me, what if time takes more than your presence? What if it takes the sound of yours, the scent of yours, the feeling of yours? Yet, despite all that, I go on, because you taught me how

Ma, grief is not just sadness, but it is the accumulation of a zillion microscopic realisations, the unkind finality of it is what suffocates, losing you 34 months ago, is not a pause, it is an erasure of futures that should have been, because I am hurt, that you would not be here to see the things I have done since you left, hurt that I cannot share the little stories with you, the way I used to, hurt that I did not say enough, did not ask enough, or did not realise that even the ordinary days were treasures, since your fingerprints are on everything, you were the lady who held my hand through every crisis but cannot fix this one, who made love feel safe, you were the arms I ran to, the voice of reason, the heart of home, and the source of love, and yet, nothing can bring you back 

Ma, my mind understands your loss, long before my wounded heart catches up, even now, my instincts still betray me, but I still whisper to your photos when the night feels too long, I still love you fiercely, illogically, as if you could still feel it, these moments are brief illusions, that you are still here, then the dirtiest trick grief plays, making you feel so very near, yet so irretrievably gone, every time, I wake to this same unchangeable truth, and maybe, it is the only return I ever get, not miracles but echoes, 34 months on, I am still caught between the beauty of your life and the brutality of your loss, nothing can bring you back, but everything reminds me, you were once radiantly alive, I was so damn lucky to call you mine, you are gone, but never from my life, and my heart