A Daughter’s Heart: Missing My Mom Every Day



It has been 11 years since I lost my mother to lung cancer, but time has not lessened the ache. They say grief fades, that wounds heal—but no one tells you that some voids remain, untouched and unfillable.


I was just her only child, and she was my world. My mother wasn’t just a parent; she was my safe space, my storyteller, my biggest cheerleader. Now, every milestone, every triumph, every heartbreak feels incomplete because she’s not here to witness it.


When I got my first job, I longed for her proud smile. When I faced struggles, I craved her comforting words. On birthdays, I imagined her warm embrace.  Even small things—a favorite dish, an old song, a scent—bring back a flood of memories that I can’t outrun.


My father carries his own quiet grief, and I see in his eyes the same loneliness I feel. We both learned to live without her, but some nights, I wish I could just sit beside her, hold her hand, and tell her about my day—like I once did, like I still do in my dreams.


I miss you, Amma. Every single day.







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