Parenting is never easy, but with a special child, it becomes a journey unlike any other. I’ve learned that acceptance, patience, consistency, and unconditional love are what truly create wonders. With Adi, progress wasn’t about milestones or charts — it was about celebrating the little steps, embracing the way he did things, and finding joy in every blessing, big or small.
Alone in a new city. Two kids. A world locked down. And yet, somewhere between the chaos and the quiet, I found strength I didn’t know I had. This is a story of surviving — and learning to live fully, even when the world outside felt like it was falling apart.
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.
A fever, a silence, and a fight we weren’t ready for. Our happy moments from the trip didn’t last long. By the time we got home, Adi had a slight fever. I gave him paracetamol, and it came down. He was a bit cranky but seemed better after some rest. I kept monitoring him and …
From Singapore, travelling to Indonesia was so easy. A short ferry ride of about 45–60 minutes, and we’d be in another country. In the first weekend of May 2019, we decided to go to Bintan, Indonesia. We had booked our stay at the beautiful Angsana Resort. The ferry ride was smooth, and both my kids …
Adi was doing fairly well with regular medications, therapy, and check-ups. There were good days when he didn’t have any seizures, and then there were those other days — the ones with the absence seizures. During those moments, we felt so helpless. There was nothing we could do except wait for it to pass. The …
Adi was now a very active toddler. My days were spent taking care of him and managing the home. On the surface, everything seemed okay. But in my mind, thoughts about his health and future never stopped. They kept me awake most nights. There were times I’d lie frozen in fear, overwhelmed by the unknown. …
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.