As morning gradually approached, relatives and neighbors began arriving at our home. I remember looking at people coming in and wondering why everyone was gathering. Everything around me seemed unfamiliar. I was in such a state of shock that I could hardly respond to anything happening around me. It felt as though my body had stopped reacting to the ordinary things happening in front of my eyes. I was physically present, but mentally I was somewhere else, struggling to accept a reality that I had never imagined I would have to face.

Despite the freezing January weather, with temperatures below zero outside, my body was sweating. I felt helpless, confused and completely lost. I had no idea what to say, whom to call or what I was supposed to do. The same room that had once been filled with my mother’s voice and presence had suddenly become unbearably silent.
I remember sitting midway on the staircase outside her room, unable to gather my thoughts. I watched the relatives and neighbor’s arriving, but I could hardly make sense of anything. Perhaps my mind was still struggling to accept what my heart was not ready to believe.
I went back inside and sat beside her once again. I held her and hugged her, perhaps hoping, somewhere deep within me, that this was all a terrible misunderstanding. But as I held her, I could feel her body slowly becoming colder. That feeling is something I cannot adequately put into words. The warmth that had once comforted me throughout my childhood was gradually disappearing, and I was standing there, completely helpless.
I had spent years watching her fight an illness, but nothing had prepared me for the silence that followed her final breath.
At her Janazah, something within me finally broke. Until then, I had remained almost unable to express what was happening inside me. I had been moving through those moments in a state of shock, as though my mind had refused to accept the loss. But when the moment of farewell arrived, I could no longer hold back. I wept uncontrollably and cried with a pain that seemed to come from the deepest part of my soul. It was as though an ocean of grief, which I had been carrying silently, had finally found its way out.
Perhaps that was the moment when the reality of her absence began to reach me. The woman whose arrival I had once awaited after returning from work was now being taken away, and there was nothing I could do to bring her back.
Those memories have remained with me. How could an ordinary conversation, one that seemed no different from countless conversations before it, become so precious with the passage of time?
Yet, faith reminds us that this world is temporary. Every soul has its appointed time, and one day we must all depart, leaving behind the people and places we hold dear. Perhaps the only consolation in separation is the belief that this farewell is not the end of every bond, and that, by the mercy of the Almighty, we may meet our beloved ones again.
Her story is not an isolated one. Across the world, countless mothers are quietly writing similar stories of sacrifice. Some are raising children alone, some are struggling against poverty, some are battling illnesses behind closed doors, and others are growing old while continuing to worry about children who may no longer need their daily care. Their circumstances differ, but the language of their love remains the same.
Unfortunately, we often understand the value of these little gestures only when they become memories. We grow busy chasing careers, possessions, recognition and ambitions, forgetting that someone once considered our smallest needs more important than her greatest comforts. We sometimes become too occupied to answer a telephone call, too tired to sit beside her for a few minutes, or too distracted to notice that the same person who once held our hand now waits for us to hold hers.
Perhaps we need to redefine success. It is not merely about earning more, achieving professional milestones or gaining recognition in society. It is also about having the time to sit beside our parents, listen to their stories, answer their calls and make them feel valued. A successful life should never come at the cost of neglecting the people who sacrificed so much to give us one.
If your mother is still beside you, do not wait for a special occasion to express your love. Sit with her, ask about her day, listen to her repeated stories and never consider her questions a burden. Answer her calls, even when you are occupied. Give her a little more of your time, because one day, you may find yourself wishing to hear just one more of those familiar questions.

And if she is no longer around, remember that love does not necessarily disappear with physical absence. It survives in memories, in habits, in the values she leaves behind and in the countless little things that suddenly remind us of her.
Perhaps this is the message every reader should carry from these words: Do not let your mother’s telephone calls become unanswered memories, her waiting becomes an empty window, or her questions become words you wish you could hear again. Because the moments we consider ordinary today may become the very moments we spend a lifetime longing to relive tomorrow.
This article is, above all, a humble tribute to my beloved mother. I may never be able to repay the love she gave me, nor can words adequately describe what her presence meant in my life. But I hope that through these words, I can honor not only her memory but also every mother whose sacrifices remain unseen and whose love continues to shape humanity.
A mother may leave this world, but the warmth of her love never truly leaves the hearts she has touched.
May every mother be blessed with love, dignity and happiness, and may those who have departed be granted eternal peace. (Concluded)

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