There is a silence where your voice once lived,
not empty… just echoing with you.
I still reach for you in ordinary moments—
a song on the radio,
a joke you would’ve loved,
the way the light hits the kitchen table at dusk.
You are everywhere
and nowhere I can touch.
I don’t know when love
became something that stood at a distance,
something that folded its arms
instead of running toward me.
But mine never learned how to leave.
It waits…
soft, steady,
like a porch light left on
long after midnight—
not asking, not demanding,
just hoping
you remember the way home.
I replay the years like photographs—
your hand in mine,
your laughter spilling into the air,
the way you once needed me
without hesitation.
And I wonder
when did I become
someone you could live without?
Still…
if you ever turn back,
you won’t find anger here.
Just a mother
who never stopped loving you,
even in the quiet,
even in the distance,
even in the ache
of not being yours
the way I used to be.
I’m here for you…always.
Love,
Mom