I know this might be coming late,

but Mother’s Day was never meant for a date.

Not just one day marked in a year,

when a mother’s love was always already here.

So when I am gone, tell my mother this, not in silence, not in grief’s abyss:

tell her I never waited for time to show,

I felt her love in the life I didn’t get to grow.

Tell her I was there… in heartbeat and breath,

even in the silence that followed my death.

I may not have lived to call her name,

but I carried her love just the same.

Tell her I knew her nights without sleep,

the tears she hid when the pain ran deep.

The hopes she built before I could arrive,

the love she gave just to see me alive.

Tell her she did her best with what was given,

even if my story felt unfinished or hidden.

Even if my hands never reached her face,

I still knew her warmth, I still knew grace.

Tell her I learned her love before I could stay,

before I ever had words to say.

In every prayer she whispered for me to be,

she was already everything I needed to see.

And if she ever wonders what I carried through,

tell her it was her I belonged too.

Not just a memory, not just a name in the air,

but a child who was loved deeply… even if I wasn’t there.

So to every mother who lost a child on the way,

who still wakes up carrying that day,

this is what your child would have said,

if love had been allowed to reach instead:

You were my beginning, my only place.

I knew your love before I knew your face.

And even if I never stayed in your sight,

I was still yours… in the quiet of light.

A. Noor✍️