Dear Adi,
It’s been six months since you left us. Six months of living without you. Six months without your giggles and laughter ringing in our home. And I can tell you, it’s not been an easy journey for us.
There are days when I just can’t stop thinking about you. Some days it’s about the joy I felt when I first conceived you—the excitement, the wonder, the promise of being a mother again. I had promised myself that I would do everything possible for this new life inside me, to enjoy every bit of my pregnancy, to welcome you with all the love I had.
I remember those days when a pregnant me would take Mana for her music classes. Maybe that’s why you had a connection with music even before you were born. Mana would sing, and you would move around so much inside me. Those moments were so precious. I would talk to you, listen to bhajans and mantras, and keep trying to build a bond with you even before your tiny hands touched mine.
Those were our moments, just yours and mine. Even now, when I think of them, I feel that same warmth and hope, like you’re still so close.
Then reality hits hard—that you’re not here physically anymore. That truth crushes me every time. And I feel bereft of all the love we shared, all the beautiful moments we created. This vaccum in my heart feels unbearable, doesn’t let me breathe, and everything seems meaningless. I find myself searching for you in every corner of life—only to be reminded that I won’t be able to hold you again in this lifetime.
And yet, Adi, you are with me. You are a part of me, forever.
The bond we shared is still alive in me. I carry you in every breath, in every prayer, in every beat of my heart.
That bond can never be broken, no matter how much time passes. Six months or sixty years—it will always be you and me.
Love you endlessly,
Mamma 💙
