31st December is the second death anniversary of my mother. I still remember every moment of that unkind night and that fatal morning. The faces of my family were looking withered and helpless before that life-consuming disease. She was in the lap of my elder brother, having tea when she closed her eyes forever. We were trying to supply her oxygen in that hope that she may again open her eyes, but our hopes were soon shattered.
Indeed we miss her but she still lives within us. She is alive in our memories. We haven’t spent a single day without remembering her.
My mother was my first friend and playmate. She was the one who rocked me as a baby and eased my heartaches as a teen. She was my inspiration and the secret mate of my life. More than a mother she was my friend. She was the only person to trust blindly.
Dear mother, I still remember the hardships you faced but how beautifully you tackled them. We are so very proud of that. How courageous you were! You never took rest even when it was time to rest. Dear mother, you never gave us an opportunity to serve you. We all owe it to you.
The loss of my mother really shattered my life. The tragedy bruised me and put a hole in my heart. I have heard that time heals every injury but I don’t want to heal this wound. I want to live with these wounds forever. The energetic me has turned into a tired, withered, dull man. The desires have turned into abhorrence. Really, the death of one’s mother is the most emotionally difficult experience. Death is inevitable, but that foreknowledge doesn’t make it any easier to accept. The loss of a mother permanently alters her children, of any age. The place of a mother is irreplaceable in a child’s life, and her contributions are immeasurable. Nothing is ever the same again — losing a mother is a wholly transformative event. Time teaches you so many lessons of Life but the loss of the mother changes your life forever.
Here are some truths that the biggest loss of my life has taught me:
1. Dying is really about living. At my mother’s memorial, I resented everyone who said some version of that old platitude, “Time heals all wounds.” Experience has taught me that time doesn’t offer a linear healing process so much as a slowly shifting perspective. In the first raw months of grieving, I pushed away family and friends. With time, though, I’ve forged close relationships and learned to trust again. Grief wants you to go it alone, but we need others to light the way through that dark tunnel.
2. No one will fill that void. I have a mom-shaped hole in my heart. Turns out, it’s not a fatal condition, but it is a spot that no one will ever fill. For a long time I worried that with the closest relationship in my life suddenly severed, I would never feel whole again. Who would ever understand me in all the ways my mother did? I have many strong role models in my life, but I harbour no illusions that any of them will take my mom’s place. Healing is not an act of substituting, but of expanding, despite the holes we carry.
3. Be easy on yourself. In the months after losing my mother, I was clumsy, forgetful and foggy. I can’t recall any of the tasks I performed during the time.
With time, the fog lifted and my memories returned. I’ve come to see this as my mind going into survival mode with its own coping mechanisms. Being kind to myself has never been my strong suit, and grief likes to make guilt its sidekick. Meditation and playing cricket are two practices that help to remind me that kindness is more powerful than listening to my inner saboteur.
4. Use whatever works. Being a Muslim I find the concept of letting go and not clinging to anything too tightly to be powerful. I don’t read self-help, but I found solace in reading books on war and conflict. There isn’t a one-size-fits-all grieving method. Much of it comes down to flailing around until you find what works. Death is always unexpected; so too are the ways we heal.
5. Gratitude wins. We always feel that we lost a loved one too soon. My mom gave me 27 good years. Of course I would’ve liked more time, but self-pity and gratitude are flip sides of the same coin; choosing the latter will serve you in positive ways, while the former gives you pain.
6. Choose to thrive. My mom and I shared similar temperaments. After her death, I worried I was also destined for an unhappy outcome. This is one of the many tricks that grief plays: it makes you think you don’t deserve happiness. Everyone has their own constructive coping mechanisms, and choosing those, even when it’s hard, is worth it in the long run. My mother may not have been able to find happiness in her own life, but I know she would want that for me. No one is going to water you like a plant—you have to choose to thrive.
7. Time heals, but on its own timeline. “Time heals all wounds” is something I heard a lot at my mother’s memorial service. Here’s what I wish I had known: grief time does not operate like normal time. In the first year, the present was obscured entirely by the past. Grieving demanded that I revisit every detail leading up to losing my mom. As I slowly started to find effective coping mechanisms, I began to feel more rooted in the present. My mood did not have to be determined by the pains of the past. There will always be good days and bad. This is the bargain we sign on for as humans. Once we make it through the worst days, we gain a heightened sense of appreciation for the small moments of joy to be found in normal days. Healing comes over time, but only if we’re willing to do the work of grieving.
8. Heartbreak is a sign of progress. In the first years after the big loss, I assumed romance was dead to me. Why would I allow someone else to break my heart? Luckily I got past this fear to the point where I was able to experience a long loving relationship. That relationship eventually imploded, but I did not, which strikes me as a sign of progress. Grief makes us better equipped to weather the other life losses that are sure to come. This is not pessimism. This is optimism that the rewards of love always trump its risks.
9. Grief makes us beginners. Death is the only universal, and grieving makes beginners out of all of us. Grief affects us all in different ways; there is no instruction manual on how best to cope. There is only time, day by day and sometimes minute by minute, to feel what works, and to cast aside what does not. In these years I’ve learned to live without my mother, I’ve tried to see my grieving process as an evolutionary one. Loss has enriched my life in challenging, unexpected ways.
A message to all of you – value and respect your parents. Hazrat Mohammad (SAW) rightly said, “There is heaven under the feet of mother” and the father is the door of paradise. Parents are hope to their children but we realise it only when we don’t have them. We never know the love of a parent till we become parents ourselves.

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Ramees Ahmad Sofi