The House Without Mother

I don’t know why life without a mother is called life. Because when she was there, everything was complete, and when she was gone, it was as if the soul had left everything. Now this is a house… but it’s not like a house. The walls are the same, the rooms are the same, the things are the same, but in the middle of all this, there is no “mother” who kept everything alive.

Mother was not just a word for me… she was my world. Her voice was the first ray of dawn, her prayer was the safest shade of the day, and her smile was the light in which every sorrow was hidden. When she was there, I never thought that silence in life could be so heavy.

I still remember that time when I would come home tired, she would understand everything with one look at me. She wouldn’t ask anything, she would just put her hand on my face and it seemed as if all the tiredness had disappeared. She wasn’t just a mother, she was my comfort, my cure, my courage.

But now… that hand is gone, that voice is gone, that prayer is gone. Now when I come home, no one waits at the door. No one says, “Have you eaten?” No one asks, “Why is your face down today?” And the strange thing is that now everything is there, but still nothing.

After mother leaves, the house does not change… the house falls apart, but silently. There is no noise, no announcement, just one day everything falls apart inside. The house that used to be full of laughter, now even the ticking of the clock there feels heavy on the heart.

I have seen my father too… he tries to look strong, but there is an emptiness in his eyes too. As if he too is looking for someone who can no longer come back. The sisters have started talking less, the brothers have become silent, and I… I have probably become the most silent of all.

Life goes on without mother, but as if something is stopping at every step. The food is cooked, but it doesn’t taste good. The house is clean, but it doesn’t have that order. There is laughter, but it doesn’t come from the heart. Everything is there, but nothing feels “own.”

The nights have become the most cruel. When the whole house falls asleep, the silence begins to speak. I feel as if the walls are also remembering my mother. And I… I just close my eyes and try to find her voice, which is nowhere to be found now.

Sometimes my heart wants to scream for my mother to come back… but then I remember the truth. And that truth is so harsh that even my eyes respond. For the first time, I have understood that tears are not always weakness… Sometimes they are just a burden of love.

I have learned to live without my mother, but I have not learned the meaning of living. Behind every happiness, there is a sadness. Inside every laughter, there is an emptiness. And at the end of every prayer, a name automatically comes… “Mother”

If someone asks me what a mother is, I may not be able to explain it in words. I will just say this… A mother is someone after whose departure a person does not allow himself to be complete.

This house is still standing… but there was no “life” inside it. Because life was that which went with the mother.