Every day, every single moment,
your face returns to my memory, Mother—
whenever I close my eyes,
I clearly see the soft, loving light on your forehead.
You are gone…
yet you remain—in my mornings when I wake,
in my lonely afternoons,
in every weary wave of these silent foreign nights.
When the moon rises alone beyond my exile window,
your tender face glows in that quiet light.
Beside my bed still lies
that old quilt you gave me—
the one you wrapped around me while whispering,
“Don’t be afraid, I will never leave you.”
But you did leave…
leaving behind only your prayers,
your silent blessings,
and an endless love—
a love that has carried me through life’s fiercest storms.
Do you know, Mother?
I still read your old letters—
the ones where you wrote,
“Stay well, I pray for you every day.”
Those prayers, those quiet whispers to God,
have become the strength behind my every step.
When I lay between life and death
on a hospital bed in New York,
I could only utter your name:
Amma…
You live in my survival,
in my solitude—
when no one is near,
I still know: you are standing beside me in silence.
And every day, I pray to Allah—
“Grant my mother the highest place in Paradise,
where there is no pain,
no sorrow,
no waiting.”
Mother,
this breath, this journey—
everything I have is because of you.
— May 9 ,2025