It’s hard to believe that today marks seven years since my beautiful, beloved mother left this earth. Sometimes it feels like a lifetime has passed, and other times, it feels like it happened just yesterday. The memories remain fresh, her voice still echoes in my heart, and the void she left behind never quite fills.
I was 20 weeks pregnant with Saadiqa when she passed, and that is perhaps the hardest part—knowing she never got to meet my little girl. My mum would’ve adored Saadiqa’s wild spirit, her unfiltered energy, and her larger-than-life personality. I often wonder what it would have been like for my daughter to grow up knowing her grandmother—this incredible woman who shaped me in so many ways. It breaks my heart knowing they never had the chance to share in each other’s laughter, to create memories that would’ve filled both their hearts.
Today, my husband did everything in his power to celebrate her. He knew how much this day would weigh on me, how heavy my heart would feel as I replayed moments in my head. We spent time together, and while he couldn’t take away the ache, his love and support carried me through. We talked about the things my mum cherished in life—her passion, her zest for living.
She was the type of person who embraced life fully, never doing things halfway. Whether it was a simple family gathering or a big celebration, she would dive in with all her energy and love. She lived her life with no reservations, no second guesses, and certainly no regrets. I’ve always admired that about her—that fearless way she approached each day, as if tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed. And she was right. It wasn’t.
The hardest part of grief isn’t just the initial loss, though that’s excruciating in itself. It’s the moments that follow—the missed phone calls, the hugs you can’t give, the advice you’ll never hear again. There are so many times I catch myself thinking, I wish Mum were here for this. Whether it’s the milestones my children reach, or the quiet moments when I just need someone to talk to, her absence is always felt. I think about the small things she used to say, how she’d laugh, and her warmth. I miss the smell of her perfume, the sound of her voice, the way she’d always know exactly what to say when I was down.
Today, as we honoured her memory, I was reminded not just of the loss but also of the life she lived. My mother was a woman who faced every challenge with strength and every joy with an open heart. She taught me what it meant to be resilient, to love deeply, and to never hold back. And I see those qualities in Saadiqa now. It’s as if my mother’s spirit has passed through me to my daughter, and while she may never have met her, I feel my mum’s presence in her every day.
There are days when the pain of her absence feels unbearable, when I’d give anything for just one more conversation with her. I dream of what it would be like to sit down over a cup of tea, to laugh with her, to tell her about everything that’s happened since she’s been gone. But I know, in a way, she’s still with me. My angel, always watching over me, guiding me through life, just as she did when she was still here.
It’s been seven years, but the love I have for my mum hasn’t faded. It never will. I miss her with every fibre of my being, but I take comfort in the memories we shared and the lessons she taught me. She’s still my greatest teacher, and her legacy lives on in the way I live my life, in the way I love my children, and in the way I carry her with me every single day.
I miss you, Mum. More than words could ever express. If only I could have one more day with you… but until then, I’ll carry you in my heart, where you’ve always been.
Love always, your daughter.