Being the youngest of six and having already lost my father at the age of 7, my bond with my mother was exceptionally strong.
Over the years, I leaned on her for advice on everything and never made a major decision without her input. From home remedies for my children’s illnesses to finding balance in a busy life with three kids, she stayed at the center of my world with her guidance and steady support.
Ammi, as I lovingly called her, lived a life filled with challenges, but her strength stayed firm. She became a widow at a young age and raised six of us on her own. She managed the home, the responsibilities, and her own losses. It felt like she never had a pause from hardship, but she moved through each phase with calm determination.
We remained close, even after I got married; I lived only a few houses away from her. That physical closeness deepened my emotional dependence on her. She played a major role in raising my three children, who adored their grandmother with their whole hearts. I will always remember how she was always there for me with a warm embrace, yummy homemade food, and above all, a sense of stability that filled the void my father left years ago.
Life shifted in a way I never imagined after she was gone
I genuinely believed things would continue on this way forever. I thought she would stay in this world long enough to watch my children grow and to keep guiding me through every new stage. But in a devastating turn of events, I lost her.
My mother went to visit my sister in New York, over the summer. She planned to return this November. Instead, she suffered a massive brain stroke in early September, slipped into a coma, and was moved to hospice care. She passed away soon after. From thousands of miles away in Pakistan, all I received were updates about her condition. First, the stroke. Then the coma. Then the end.
My family and I only managed to see her for a few minutes through a video call, lying still in a state no child wants to witness. It felt unreal. I never spoke to her again. I never touched her hand. I never said goodbye. I never asked her how I would go on without her.
It has been two months since her death. As I move through grief, I often feel lost while parenting my kids. I still reach for my phone at times when I would ask her something. I scroll through her voice notes and read her messages because hearing her words gives me a moment of comfort. I ache for just one more conversation with her.
Parenting became much harder without my mother in the picture
My children need me. They feel her loss, too. But in those first weeks, even simple tasks like handling a tantrum required a strength I could not find. There was a time when I had to attend my eldest child’s parent-teacher meeting, but I had no strength left in me to discuss important issues with his teacher, and my husband had to step in. Although I had always handled these things perfectly before, I was too overwhelmed by the feeling of having lost my guidance to handle everything properly now.
With time, my family and friends reassured me of the steady devotion and strength my mother had instilled in me during her lifetime. My elder sister also reminded me how committed our mother was to her responsibilities after our grandmother died. She never let that grief overcome her love and dedication as a mother. None of us ever felt she wasn’t there for us when we needed her. That memory finally pushed me to believe that I could keep going, too.
Carrying on with instinct instead of memories
I won’t have my mother’s guidance and support in everything, nor will I have her message or voice note for every challenge that comes my way in life. But I knew her well enough to understand how she thought about life. Now, when I face decisions, I pause and imagine what she would have told me, trying to stay strong even in the painful silence she left behind.
I will miss my mother for the rest of my life. No one will ever fill the space she left. But her courage, resilience, and compassion now shape the way I raise my own children. This feels like the lasting gift of having a loving parent. Their values stay alive in you long after they are gone.
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