Somewhere inside me lives a daughter,
who never got to finish loving her mother out loud.
Not quietly. Not in passing.
But in the full, unapologetic way love is meant to be expressed.
When you still believe you have time.
There were still conversations waiting to happen.
The kind that start small and end in truths you did not know.
You were brave enough to say.
There were questions I had not thought to ask yet.
Stories I assumed would always be there.
Memories we had not even created.
There were still years.
Years where I would have grown into softer versions of myself.
Stronger versions too.
Versions she never got to witness, never got to guide.
Never got to say, “I’m proud of you” to.
And that is a grief people do not always understand.
Mourning not just who someone was.
But everything they were still supposed to be
in your life.
There was pride she had not expressed yet,
not because it was not there.
But because we always think we will say it tomorrow.
There was comfort I had not needed yet.
The kind you do not realise you will crave,
until life finally hits you in ways only a mother could soothe.
All of it, every word, every hug, every unfinished moment.. SEALED FOR GOOD..
Frozen in a timeline that ended, without permission, without warning, without asking if my heart was ready to carry something this heavy.
People talk about closure.
Like it is something you can find.
If you search hard enough within yourself.
But there is no closure.
In a goodbye you never got to say, they way wished too.
There is no neat ending.
To a love story that was never supposed to end
when it did.
There is only interruption.
A sentence that stops mid-word.
A door that closes mid-conversation.
A life that splits into before and after, with no bridge in between.
And what remains, is not closure, it is continuation.
Because love like that does not die.
It does not wrap itself up and disappear.
It lingers. It echoes. It reshapes you.
It becomes the way you remember her voice
when the world feels too loud.
The way you crave her presence
In moments you never needed her before.
The way you carry her in silence.
In habits, in prayers, in pieces of yourself
you did not realise were hers.
It becomes a life sentence, of unfinished love, not as punishment, but as proof.
Proof that what you had was real enough
to outlive time itself.
Proof that even interruption, cannot erase connection.
Proof that somewhere, somehow,
that daughter is still loving her mother,
just in ways the world can no longer see. 💔
Mama, you died in my arms
and took my soul with you…
but I never got that goodbye.
I never got to hear you say you loved me,
even if it was the last time I would ever hear it.
You were my first love, Mama.
I heard your heartbeat from the inside
long before I entered this world…
and that kind of bond,
no distance, no time, no death
could ever truly break.
Somewhere inside me is a daughter
who never got to finish loving her mother out loud.
There were still conversations.
Still years.
Still versions of me you never got to meet.
Still pride you never got to speak.
Still comfort I did not know I would need.
All of it… gone without warning.
A goodbye that never came.
A love that was interrupted.
Mama, wherever you are…
I hope you know this daughter loves you.
And I will carry that love
until the day I see your beautiful smile again. 💔