Some moments quietly remind you how temporary everything is. That day by the river, every thought led me back to Adi.
Today marks one year since Adi left us. The memories are still fresh, the questions still linger, and the ache hasn’t softened the way I once hoped it would.
Last Shivratri came just days after I lost Adi. This year, the memories returned just as strongly — prayer and grief intertwined.
Grief is deeply personal. Not everyone knows how to sit with it, and not everyone will try. This year taught me to stop expecting understanding — and to walk my journey in my own way.
This Feb 18th, it will be a year since Adi left us. I thought the pain might ease with time, but it hasn’t. Some mornings, I still wake up hearing his voice — and then I remember.
Adi loved learning, just not in the way the world expects children to. Watching him understand concepts in his own quiet, beautiful way taught me that learning doesn’t have to be linear—it just needs patience and love.
From cake cutting at midnight to noodles at dinner, every moment brought back memories of you. Even a child peering through a glass window was enough to remind me of you.
Once Covid was over, restrictions eased and schools started, I was faced with a new situation. Adi had to start schooling and I didn’t know where to send him. I wanted him to have a social atmosphere, but at the same time I didn’t want to overwhelm him. Yet again, I was clueless about the …
11 months without Adi… and the quiet in our home feels louder than ever.
It’s 2:30 a.m., and the silence feels heavier than ever. I keep asking why you had to leave so soon, Adi. Every night, I ache for one more hug, one more “nice,” one more moment that will never return. Some nights, the grief feels endless — like tonight. The world keeps moving, but my heart still waits for you.