Missing a Mother, a Longing that can Never be Cured.

There's a longing that never ends, that nothing can cure, that lingers in our hearts even as time passes, turning into years. It's a longing to return home as a child. Not to a house that still stands, not to a village that's still bustling. But to a hug that's gone. To a smile that remains only in a worn-out photograph. To a voice that can only be heard in fading memories. This longing stems from childhood, when a mother leaves before we can get to know her, before we can feel her warmth for a longer period, before we can say her name meaningfully.

From that moment on, we become lost children. Not just a lost person, but a lost place. Home, which should be the safest place, becomes silent. Holidays, which should be celebrated with laughter, become the hardest. When friends tell stories about mother's cooking, we remain silent. When others say our mother's name easily, we swallow hard. When they embrace their mother without any burden, we can only hug ourselves at night. This longing grows with us. It becomes our most loyal friend, one that never leaves us, even when we try to forget it.

💙 Unhealed Longing: A Silent Wound

There's a kind of wound that never truly heals. It doesn't gape, it doesn't bleed, it's invisible to the eye. But it remains, tucked neatly away in the deepest corner of our hearts. It's the wound of loss that occurs too early, when we're not strong enough to understand it, when we're not mature enough to process it, when we don't have the words to express it. This wound lives on. It becomes a part of us, shaping the way we see the world, the way we love, the way we miss.

Missing a mother who passed away when we were little is the most intense longing. Because we don't have enough memories to hug, not enough stories to reminisce, not enough moments to find solace. All that remains is emptiness. An emptiness that no one can fill. An emptiness that makes every holiday feel bland, every hug from another person feel strange, every mention of the word "mother" feels like a slowly stabbing knife.

We try to find a replacement. We look for a mother figure in our teachers, in our remaining family. But nothing can replace it. Because losing a mother isn't just the loss of a person, but the loss of time. Time to learn about unconditional love. Time to feel loved without having to prove anything. Time to be a complete child, without burden, without guilt, without questioning why she left.

This longing never goes away. It remains, even when we're adults, even when we have children of our own, even when we've learned to accept it. It remains, sometimes appearing on quiet nights, sometimes appearing at unexpected moments, sometimes appearing when we see a mother and child playing. It comes uninvited, then leaves without saying goodbye, leaving an indelible mark.

💙 Returning Home to Become a Child: Endless Longing

There's a longing deeper than simply wanting to meet. It's a longing to return home to become a child. Not a child in the sense of age, but a child in the sense of being able to lean on, to let go of burdens, to be weak without feeling guilty. A longing to run into a hug and cry to our hearts' content. A longing to hear the word "son" without needing to be followed by advice. The longing to just sit still without having to be strong.

This longing cannot be fulfilled by anyone. Not by a partner, even if they love you deeply. Not by children, even if they love you deeply. Not by friends, even if they understand you deeply. Because this longing is a longing for a relationship that only a mother can fill. A relationship where we don't have to be anything other than a child. A relationship where we don't have to prove anything other than that we exist. A relationship where love doesn't need to be spoken because it flows in our blood.

We may be adults. We may be strong. We may be able to face the world without fear. But deep down, we are still children longing for our mothers. We still want to run into their arms and say, "Mom, I'm tired." We still want to hear, "Son, it's okay." We still want to feel a hand gently stroking our heads, without asking what's wrong.

This longing never ends. It will be there as long as we live. It will accompany us in every step, in every decision, in every relationship. It is a part of us, shaping who we are today, and will continue to shape who we will be in the future.

💙 Becoming a Mother to Yourself, Healing Re-Parenting

In life's journey, we learn that not all wounds can be healed by waiting. Not all longing can be soothed by tears. We must learn to be our own mothers. We must learn to embrace ourselves when no one else does. We must learn to tell ourselves, "You are not alone. You are loved. You are worthy." We must learn to be our own home.

This process is not easy. It requires time, patience, and courage to open long-buried wounds. It requires the realization that we cannot change the past, but we can change how we carry that past into the future. It requires the acceptance that our mother will never return, but her love can live on within us.

Re-parenting is the process of giving ourselves what we didn't receive in childhood. Giving ourselves permission to feel okay. Giving ourselves space to be vulnerable without guilt. Giving ourselves unconditional love, which doesn't require performance or obedience. This is a long road to healing. A path that isn't always smooth, but worth taking.

💙 Finding Mother in Life, Finding Mother in Self

Maybe we will never be able to physically hug our mothers again. We may never hear his voice again. Maybe we will never feel its warmth directly again. But we can find it in other forms. In the smiles of people who are kind to us. In the arms of a sincere friend. In the wise teacher's advice. In the love we give our children. In the kindness that we spread to others.

We can also find the mother within ourselves. In strength that we don't expect when facing difficulties. In the tenderness we show to people in need. In our determination to keep going even though we are tired. In our ability to love despite loss. All of that is inheritance. A legacy that no one can take away.

Mother may be gone, but her love is never truly lost. It flows in our blood, forms our bones, sustains our souls. It is a prayer that never stops, even if it is not heard. He is an invisible presence, but always felt. She is the reason we can still survive, still love, still hope, even though loss has become a lifelong companion.

💙 Longing That Never Heals, But Becomes Strength

Longing for a mother who has passed away will never be healed. It will remain, forever. But over time, it is no longer an open wound. It becomes a sweet memory. It becomes a source of strength. She is the reason we continue to do good, because we hope that one day, when we meet, we can smile and say, "Mom, look, I'm good. I'm what you prayed for."

This longing doesn't need to be cured. It only needs to be nurtured. Make it a friend, not an enemy. Make it a wing, not a burden. Make it a light, not a darkness. Because ultimately, this longing is proof that we once had a love so deep that even loss cannot erase its traces.

So, if today you still miss your mother who passed away when you were little, let it be. Don't reject it, don't fight it, don't regret it. Accept it as a part of you. And in that acceptance, you will discover that this unquenchable longing is actually another form of unending love. And that love, though no longer touched, no longer heard, no longer seen, remains the deepest part of who you are today.

One day, when this journey is over, we will return home. Home to the mother who has been waiting. Home to the embrace we never truly let go. Home to the longing we have always been able to keep hidden in prayer. And there, there will be no more "missing." There will only be a meeting that will never be separated again.

Dian Sukma
Author of Re-Parenting
Heal - Grow - Shine