Umma, my mother, where are you? What distant corner of the Universe? Is there a Heaven, a Paradise? May I speak to you, may we meet, through dreams or meditation? My Inner Child wants to know. So many times she has cried for you, reached out for you and screamed with pain of missing you. She sits with her hands folded, saying her prayers again and again. Why can I not hear your voice? Call for me, please, so I can find you and come running. Why are we apart? For so long have I been wishing you were here with me.
Although death parts us, my Inner Child feels as if you were still alive. Her hopes, dreams and feelings remain the same as they were back then, at the moment when we went different ways. She doesn’t understand that you died, as she lay beside you, that you had passed on and would be gone forever. Her heart longs for you, wishes to meet you, hear your voice, feel your embrace, sit in your lap and give you little butterfly kisses. She wishes to feel that you love her.
Everything happened because you left so soon, that’s when my long journey began, along with the hardships for the family. My only comfort is my belief that I will meet you again, when my time here is over. I hate adoption, which took me as far away from you as possible. Your grave is so distant, and I don’t know the way. But when the time comes, dear Umma, please take my tiny hand in yours, and guide your little daughter home. Until then, rest in peace in the realms of Heaven, and may our souls one day be rejoined and heal together in the light of a bright, distant star.
I miss you so much, you will never know.