What if there is no silence, not even when everything seems quiet. Then I lie in the dark, eyes closed, and suddenly I feel you again. I truly feel your presence then; it is stronger than a memory. It is as if you are sitting next to me, pulling the blankets straight and tight around me one last time. Just like you used to do for me. Then it seems as if you are holding me for the night, to let me sleep safely in my world that misses you.

April 12th is your birthday. I miss you, Mom. Not just because you are no longer here; you were the one who saw me. Truly saw ME. Behind the smile. Behind the perseverance. Behind the strong face that I showed and still show so often. You saw the child who was sometimes still afraid. The little boy who hoped someone would say: “I see you. It is okay.”

You were that voice. You were caring, gentle, infinitely faithful. That wasn’t just for me; that was there for everyone. You gave yourself away – time and time again. To whoever needed it. To whoever was in pain. To whoever sought love. You could not help but give. That was who you were. And I think that is also why it ultimately cost you your life. Because you always put the other person before yourself.

But what love.
What dedication.
What an example.

Now that I am working daily on humanity, on seeing who someone truly is, on making room for (my own) vulnerability, you are so often my silent example. Not as an ideal, but as a reminder of what love truly looks like. For you, love was not loud or grand. For you, love was being present. Supportive and unconditional! Sometimes I talk to you. Usually not out loud, often inside, alone and in silence.

Then I imagine what you would say and I hear your voice. I feel again how you looked at me with that soft, warm look that made everything right, even when nothing was right. You had that look then, which made all doubt and fear forgotten for a moment. The song that recently crossed my path perhaps says it better than I can ever put into words:

“When I am lost, I whisper your name.
Mama, your love still feels the same.”

That is exactly what it is. When I get lost in life, in choices, in weariness, in doubt – then I whisper your name. And then there is something that gives me ground again. Something that says: you are not alone. Your faith in me became the ground beneath my feet. Even now that you are no longer here.

I have your photo here. Close by. But never close enough. I look at it and try to hold you, but an image is not an embrace. And what I miss most is your arms around me, just as I lay on your lap so often as a child. That wordless knowing: you are allowed to be here. Here you don’t have to do anything. The nights are colder without you. Not because it is actually colder. But because the warmth you gave is no longer physically present.

“Like a child with no shoulder to lean on.”

That is how it feels sometimes. Even now that I am an adult. Sometimes I am that little boy again with tears in his eyes, searching for his mother. And yet…

You are there.

In my choices.
In my gentleness.
In my way of listening.
In my need to remain human in a world that sometimes forgets that.

I carry you with me.

Mom, thank you for allowing me to be your son. Thank you for your love. Thank you for your sacrifice. Thank you for who you were – and for who you still are in me.

I love you.

I miss you.

And somewhere I know: one day I will find you again. In a way that I do not understand yet, but that I already feel deep inside. Until then, I whisper your name. And I carry your love forward.