When I Miss You Most, Mother.
It was a night shrouded in darkness,
A night where not a flicker of light could be found.
A cold crept beneath my blanket’s edge,
And the fever wrapped its shivering arms around me.
I searched for warmth,
A sip of water to ease my chill,
Yet all I found was silence in the stillness.
In that aching quiet, memories stirred—
Of you, Mother, beside me through every fevered breath,
With gentle hands and home remedies,
Nursing me back to life.
You’d stay awake if I couldn’t sleep,
And wouldn’t eat if I was too weak.
Oh, how I miss you in my frailest moments,
When no one is there to bring me comfort in the dark.
I’ve found kind souls around me,
Gentle hearts that fill the space you left.
They care for me, and I am truly, grateful.
But still, no one could be you, Mother—
Though they are not lesser,
They are never quite the same.
Some nights are darker than others, not because of the absence of light, but because of the ache that sits deep within. I wrote this poem on one such winter night, shivering with fever and longing for the gentle hands of my mother.
When you’re in pain, and no one is there to comfort you, it’s impossible not to think of the days when just a touch from her could ease every discomfort. Those sleepless nights in childhood, wrapped in her care, feel like a memory that time cannot replace.
This poem is not just a reflection of longing; it’s a tribute to every mother who sacrifices her peace for her child’s well-being. It’s a reminder of the irreplaceable warmth that only a mother can bring.
I hope this piece resonates with you as much as it did with me when I penned it in the stillness of the night.
