Blog Title: The Day My Sky Fell – A Letter to My Mother
Muqadas Dilmeer (social scientist)
17 May ,2025
To My Dearest Ami,
There are days when grief becomes a storm, and today, I am standing in its eye. My heart is a garden where your memory still blooms, but the roots ache in the soil of your absence. I’m writing to you, Ami – not because I expect an answer, but because silence has become too loud to bear.It was a winter morning, heavy with clouds and quiet sorrow. I was preparing for my 10th-grade biology exam, unaware that life had already written its cruelest question for me. The sky wept with rain, as if mourning something the world hadn’t yet announced. Then came the first tremor: news of my aunt’s passing. A piece of our world chipped away.
But I carried on, as you always taught me. You were the compass of my life, pointing me toward strength, toward duty. I went to give my paper, walking through the storm, not knowing another one was brewing just behind me.When I returned home, your absence felt like a missing heartbeat in a familiar song. You were at uncle’s place, and the clock had already swallowed too much of the day. So I laid down, not knowing I was choosing dreams over a goodbye.
Evening tiptoed in, and with it, the sound of your sobs. I woke as if pulled from a dream into a nightmare. You were crying, your tears falling like broken pearls. I rushed to you, asked what was wrong. You said nothing, but your silence screamed louder than thunder.Baji’s words stung like cold wind: “Ami is crying because of you. You slept instead of asking about her.” My heart cracked. I kissed your forehead, hoping my love would erase my absence. You smiled. That smile – so soft, yet it held the weight of a thousand unshed tears. Now I know… it was your final sunrise, lighting everything one last time.
Your health had already begun its quiet rebellion. Your blood pressure was a storm behind your ribs, your heart working harder than ever. Still, like the warrior you were, you kept moving. Maybe you knew your hourglass had only a few grains left.Then came the calls from bhai and baji, like the last notes in a fading song. And then, your breath – that sacred rhythm – began to falter. You were gasping, as though the wind had abandoned your lungs. Api gave you steam, but the air refused to return.
We live in a village where emergencies must wait for transportation to catch up with desperation. Bhai came with a bike, the only chariot we had in that moment. He and api carried you like sacred light in their arms, hoping speed could outrun fate. Abu followed. I stayed behind, my prayers chasing you down the road.
Fifteen minutes. That’s all time gave us before it changed everything.Bhai’s call came. His voice was rain on shattered glass. He couldn't form words – only sobs. I asked with trembling hope, “Is Ami okay?” And then came the strike that turned my sky to ash:
“Ami is gone.”
Gone. Just like that. Like a candle blown out by wind no one saw coming.
My phone slipped from my hand. My knees buckled. The earth beneath me gave way, and I fell into a silence so deep, it felt like the world had ended. You were gone. My sun had set in the middle of the day.I never imagined life without you. I was your shadow, your soft echo, your youngest. I had never even walked alone in the world – I had only ever followed the sound of your footsteps. And suddenly, there were none to follow.
The next day at 11 a.m., we buried my aunt. The day after, at the same hour, we buried you. Two funerals, two heartbreaks, within twenty-four hours. It wasn’t just grief. It was an earthquake that shattered every pillar of our home.
Now, Ami, the house still breathes your name. Your dupatta still hangs where you left it, like a flag in memory of a war you quietly lost. Your smile still lives in the corners of the rooms. Your prayers still echo in our hearts. And I? I’m learning to walk barefoot on the broken pieces of a world without you.If you’re watching from beyond the stars, just know: I’m sorry. Sorry for sleeping when I should’ve been holding your hand. Sorry for not seeing the storm in your smile. But I know your love – it was a shelter with no doors, no locks. You forgave me long before I needed it.
I miss you every moment, Ami. And I promise – I will bloom again. Because I carry your light within me now.
With love that will never end,
Your little daughter
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