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.
Last Shivratri came just days after I lost Adi. This year, the memories returned just as strongly — prayer and grief intertwined.
Grief is deeply personal. Not everyone knows how to sit with it, and not everyone will try. This year taught me to stop expecting understanding — and to walk my journey in my own way.
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.
Adi loved learning, just not in the way the world expects children to. Watching him understand concepts in his own quiet, beautiful way taught me that learning doesn’t have to be linear—it just needs patience and love.
11 months without Adi… and the quiet in our home feels louder than ever.
“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.”
“Leaving our old home felt like losing Adi all over again. Every corner held his laughter, his footsteps, his presence. In this new home, I place his red chair on the balcony and imagine him there—watching, smiling, still with us.”
It’s been six months since Adi left us. Six months of silence where his laughter once filled our home. Some days I find myself lost in the memories of my pregnancy with him—the joy, the music, the little moments that belonged only to us. And then reality hits, leaving behind a void words can’t fill. Yet, in every prayer and every song, I still feel his presence, reminding me that our bond will always remain.