The first year without my mother

3rd of October 2025. That dreaded call finally came. One of the most traumatic experiences any human being may have in life is being thorn between faith and fear.

Clutching the phone in expectation of bad news while hoping and praying for a miracle.

That was a year ago. Unfortunately I would have to live with that blurt on my memory disc for life.

After today, the daily ritual of bringing out my Mother’s photograph at her favourite sitting position at the porch in the village would cease.

Today is one year anniversary of her passage.

I took time last night to ruminate on the he first one year after my mother’s death which to me, is unlike any other.

As someone told me last week, it is a year of many “firsts.” The first birthday she doesn’t call, the first time that red chair at the porch is empty.

And for 90% of the 365 days of this last one year, I unconsciously reached my phone to dial her number every morning and evening as I have always done before remembering.

It is like the world keeps spinning, but mine has stopped .

Grief as they say, is not linear. The early days blur into survival mode, of showering, eating, breathing and feeling monumental.

Shock and denial cushion the blow, often followed by anger, guilt, and a loneliness so deep it takes the breath away. Some days I feel numb; others, I try to cry at a song, a scent, and a stranger’s laughter.

Experts are right. There is no timeline to how we respond to stimuli.

I can’t remember how many times I wanted to report a family issue to my mother only to be jolted to reality of my situation.

Over the past one year, I have tried to understand how each of my siblings were going through their own grieving experience.

Being the first child, I have had this load of judging myself on whether I have helped them bear this grief, but not knowing how to go about it because I am also grieving. Being a father and mother at once is quite a handful.

In all these, I feel more for my sisters. Years ago, I read that the loss of a mother affects daughters differently as the loss cuts deep into the bone for them.

Research shows that a mother’s death can affect identity, self-esteem, and sense of security, because daughters often internalize their mothers’ values and ways of being.

For them, there’s this feeling that they have lost part of themselves. They may also feel a new weight of responsibility, a void where her guidance once lived. I wish I was of help for them to go through this period less painfully. I don’t know.

We have made adjustments with the support from family and friends, which allowed us to grieve without judgment.

But we do not have to “move on,” we have to learn to carry her with us always.

The loss of a mother actually shapes us, but it does not destroy us. While learning that being sad is allowed, we also need to acclimatise to being happy again. Drawing strength from her memory, from the love she gave us, from the simple act of surviving each day.

She is gone. But what she planted in us remains. And in that, I hope and fervently pray we will find our way.