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 cheek. There’s no Adu to snuggle into bed with me. There’s no school rush, no tiffin to pack, no tiny uniform to iron. The house feels empty and the silence is deafening.
The other day, I finally gathered the courage to clean up your cupboard—filled with your books and stationery. I thought it would be a simple task, but it took me the entire day. It was both cathartic and painful. Every few minutes, I had to step away, unable to handle the waves of emotions crashing over me.
As I sorted through your things, I found that page in your art book—your masterpiece. To anyone else, it might look like just another scribble-filled page. But to you, it was special. You would always pick it out and admire it, like a great artist standing in front of their finest creation. I could see that proud little smile in my mind, and for a moment, I smiled too.
Then, I found something even more precious—your tiny handprints on a sheet of paper. I traced them with my fingers, trying to remember how small your hands once were. I’ve decided to frame it. A part of you that I can hold onto forever.
I donated some of your things, hoping they’ll bring joy to another child. But there’s so much I couldn’t let go of. Every little item holds a story, a memory, a piece of you. And maybe I need them to hold me together right now.
I don’t know how long I can hold onto these physical things, but I do know one thing—I will carry the memories forever. I will cherish them for as long as I live.
I will never stop holding on to you. In my heart, in my memories, in every single breath.
Love you, Shona Babu.
Mamma