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.
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.
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.
“Mamba turned 18 last week—a milestone she once dreamed of celebrating in a big way. But this year was different. With your absence, her priorities changed, and all she wanted was a quiet day. I tried to make it special for her, knowing that’s what you’d have wanted too. Through the cakes, the laughter, the shopping, we kept talking about you. You were there in every moment, just not in the way we wished.”
“This year, all we had were the memories—of every birthday we celebrated with you, every little joy you brought into our lives. Still, I baked a cake for you, because your birthday will always be a blessing we cherish, no matter what.”
Adu Baby, It’s been five months since you left us. Not a moment passes by when I don’t think of you. I miss you so much, can’t explain in mere words! You know what? Mamba has completely changed her room. We sold the bed, the table, everything. Since you left, she couldn’t bear to be …
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 …
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.
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.