You tell me to let go.
You tell me to accept it.
You tell me to find a hobby.
You tell me to move on.
But tell me this:
How do you let go of a child who is still alive?
You did not carry my daughter.
Not feed her from your body, not cradle her in your arms.
You did not see her first smile.
You did not kiss away her nightmares.
You were not there when she fell.
Or when she said, “I love you, mom.”
But now that she is silent…
Now that her eyes no longer see me…
Now that she has turned away from me, not out of hate but out of confusion…
Now you say: “Let go.”
Now no one dares to look.
Now it becomes quiet.
You say: it is complex.
You say: there is nothing we can do.
You say: try to accept it.
But what you are really saying is: we look away, because your pain is too big.
I am not a hysterical mother.
I am not a bitter ex.
I am a human being.
A mother.
I am someone who is losing her child…
to a living system that refuses to acknowledge what invisible harm can do.
And so I write.
Because I cannot scream.
Because I am not allowed to grieve with flowers and silence.
Because no one declares my child “dead,” yet she has been taken out of my life.
So to you, dear society:
If you truly want to help, then look.
Listen.
Ask.
And dare to stay when it hurts.
Because as long as you look away, there are mothers like me who disappear—
in silence.
In shadow.
In the loneliness of love that is not received.
And that is something I will never let go of. ❤️