20/11/2025
7 years without my mum.
I canāt believe itās been that longā¦ and still, somehow, this year has been the heaviest of all.
Becoming a mother didnāt just open a new chapter ā it reopened an old wound. A wound Iāve carried quietly for 7 yearsā¦ but this year, it pulsed in every moment.
I found myself searching for her in places she could never return to.
I looked for her when I saw my daughter on the ultrasound screen ā the very moment I realised I am becoming a mumā¦ without my mum.
I looked for her during labour, when every wave of pain made me crave her hand on my forehead, the way she used to soothe me without a single word.
I looked for her in the quiet, fragile days after birthā¦ when I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and aching for someone who would have loved me through it all with no judgement, no hesitation ā just pure, unconditional warmth.
I kept reaching for a love that isnāt here anymore.
A love I can still feel, but canāt touch.
And the hardest part?
I look at my daughter and wish ā with every cell in my body ā that she knew her teta.
That she felt her arms.
Heard her laugh.
Was wrapped in the kind of love I grew up with.
Because my mum didnāt just loveā¦ she loved with her whole soul.
And thereās a particular kind of grief that hits you when you realise your child will never know the woman who shaped the best parts of you.
But hereās the part that breaks me and heals me all at once:
Every time I hold my daughter the way my mum held meā¦
Every time I speak softly the way she used toā¦
Every time I catch myself smiling with the same warmth she hadā¦
I am reminded that sheās not gone.
Not really.
She lives in the way I mother.
She lives in the gentleness I give.
She lives in the love that pours out of me without effort ā because she poured it into me first.
The ache is so big.Some days it swallows me whole.
But the loveā¦ the love she left behind is bigger. ā¤ļø
7 years without her.
7 years of learning how to mother with a heart that still misses its own mother. 7 years of realising that grief doesnāt fade ā it transformsā¦ and sometimes, it becomes the very thing that guides your hands as you hold your own child.
May Allah grant her the highest Jannah š
