Dear Adi, Today marks four months since you left us. Four months of living without our dearest Adi — the heartbeat of our family. While a lot has changed on the surface, deep down, nothing has. Not the ache. Not the memories. Not the love. Mamba passed her 12th exams with flying colours. Even though …
The last time we flew, you were running around the airport with endless curiosity, headphones on, lost in your music — calm and content, unlike any other child. Little did I know that would be our final journey together. Every mile since has carried the quiet ache of your absence.
Writing to you keeps me going, Adi. On the good days and the hard ones, these letters are my way of staying close to you. In my dreams, in my heart—you are always there.
A quiet morning by the sea, the breeze, the sand, and Adi’s laughter echoing through it all. In this letter, I hold on to one of our simplest, happiest memories—one that still gives me strength today.
You stopped playing, stopped calling me “mamma”, and it broke me. But we waited. We held on. And when you began returning to us—little by little—we learned that nothing in life is truly ordinary. You taught us that.
It rained yesterday, and I missed him all over again. A stranger’s question reopened the night I’ve never truly left—the night my son’s heart stopped. In moments like these, I realise: grief doesn’t end. It returns, quietly, suddenly, again and again.
It’s been two months since Adi left us, and every corner of our home still whispers his name. His slippers by the door, his toys on the shelf, his empty plate — they all remind us of the love we lost. The pain hasn’t eased, nor has the heartache faded. But amidst the sorrow, there’s gratitude — for the gift of Adi, and the light he brought into our lives.
Dear Adi, Today is Bohag Bihu—the Assamese New Year. It’s always been one of my favourite festivals. I loved shopping for new clothes for all of us and cooking special dishes to make the day festive. No matter where in the world we were, I always tried to make it special. But this year… I …
Dear Adi, Every day, we try to make peace with the fact that you’re not here with us physically. But the truth is, it still doesn’t feel real. Every morning, I wake up and feel lost all over again. There’s no Adu to wake me up with a hug and a sleepy kiss on my …
Dearest Adi, Today marks one month since you left us physically. One month of living without you. One month without your laughter ringing my home, your naughtiness entertaining us. One month without your hugs, your kisses, your “I Love You”s and so much more. My heart aches for you so much that I can’t breathe. …