In the face of adversity, love and responsibility can help us discover strength we never knew we had.

My name is Amaal, and this is my story of missing my mom for 13 days. At the tender age of seven, I found myself standing on the precipice of childhood and responsibility when my mom left for treatment. A heavy silence descended upon our home, wrapping me in a blanket of fear and uncertainty. Each passing day felt like an eternity, and the absence of her comforting presence turned my world upside down. Suddenly, I was thrust into the role of caretaker for my little brother, Norbu, as the weight of my mother’s absence settled heavily on my small shoulders.

My mom was leaving for treatment—migraine, they said, a word that sounded strange and big to me back then. The idea of her being gone was a thunderbolt, sharp and jarring. It wasn’t just a trip. It was 13 long days.

How could I look after Norbu, my little brother, when I was only six going on seven? Who would be there to hold us close when Dad went to work? The questions swirled in my mind, heavy and pressing, as we made our way to the airport. I clung to her hand like it was a lifeline, as if my small fingers could somehow keep her from going. But soon, she was waving goodbye, and we were left to find our way home without her.

We boarded the bus, the rain tapping softly on the windows, as if even the sky felt my sadness. I watched the raindrops streak down the glass, feeling as if the clouds themselves were crying for me.

When we returned home, Dad settled onto the couch, engrossed in his football match. Norbu had disappeared somewhere, but I didn’t have the energy to look for him. It was as though I’d become invisible, like no one could see the void left behind by her absence.

That night, Dad brought home paratha and butter chicken, my favorite meal. Normally, it would’ve been a treat, a reason to celebrate. But now, even my favorite dish tasted empty. The food sat on my plate, untouched, as the hollow feeling in my heart grew stronger.

I missed my mom. I missed her smile, her warm hands feeding me, her voice filling our home with laughter. The house felt cold, quiet, and unfamiliar without her. And as I lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, I knew that the days ahead would feel longer and emptier than I’d ever imagined.

The morning after she left, I woke when my dad called out to me before heading to work. It was 5:30 AM, the sun barely rising. I knew what he expected: I had to look after Norbu, who was still peacefully asleep. He was such a cute little boy while sleeping, his cheeks round and his lips slightly parted, making my heart swell with affection. But as I felt the pangs of hunger gnawing at my stomach, I was suddenly aware of my responsibilities.

“Don’t forget to feed Norbu,” Dad had said, giving me a sweet kiss on the forehead. His warmth enveloped me, but the moment he left, the house felt cold and empty without Mom’s presence. I knew breakfast was the first meal of the day, so I shuffled to the kitchen, warming up leftover paratha and pouring myself a cup of tea.

As I switched on the TV, the familiar antics of Tom and Jerry distracted me momentarily. But before I knew it, sleep enveloped me once again, stealing away my worries.

Suddenly, the ringing of the doorbell jolted me awake. Fear gripped me, and I crawled quietly to Norbu’s side. “Norbu,” I whispered, shaking him gently, but he was still deep in slumber. My heart raced as the bell rang insistently. What if it was someone dangerous? After what felt like an eternity, the ringing stopped, leaving me breathless. I glanced at the clock—10:00 AM—and realized I was hungry again.

“Okay, now I can eat lunch,” I thought, even though a pang of guilt nagged at me. I couldn’t call Mom; I knew she was still in the hospital. Then I remembered my aunt’s number. When I dialed her, her laughter rang in my ears, but it quickly turned to concern. “Amaal, my dear! It’s okay to eat lunch if you’re hungry. Just take some biscuits for now, okay?”

By 11:00, Norbu woke up crying, and I knew it was time to face the chaos. I took him to the washroom to brush his teeth, but he was being mischievous, refusing to let me rinse his mouth. He splashed water everywhere, giggling like a little imp. My frustration began to boil. I could hardly keep my patience as he turned the routine into a game, pulling at the towels, throwing toothbrushes on the floor, and making a mess of the bathroom.

“Mom, please come back soon!” I thought, feeling overwhelmed by Norbu’s antics. He kept grabbing the toilet paper and unrolling it like a little tornado, giggling as I tried to catch him. “This little rascal!” I muttered, struggling to regain control of the situation. My patience wore thin, and I longed for the calmness that only my mother could bring.

Later that evening, Dad surprised us by coming home early, arms laden with shopping bags filled with toys and snacks. My heart soared; he was so considerate and understanding. We spent the evening playing video games, laughing together as I shot ducks in our virtual world. I watched my dad, who had seemed so serious before, turn into this fun-loving guy who made everything feel better. I thought he was the coolest dad in the world.

As I snuggled up to him, feeling sleep wash over me, he gently lifted me and carried me to bed, lying down beside me. I felt safe, cocooned in his warmth, and for a moment, my worries faded away.

The next morning followed the same routine, but I woke up feeling queasy, the pain in my stomach nagging at me. I didn’t feel like having food, and when I tried to feed Norbu, he grew angry, pushing his plate over the carpet, sending rice and curry flying. My heart sank at the mess, but when I shouted at him in frustration, his face crumpled in tears.

“Oh no, Mom is going to kill me for making him cry!” Panic coursed through me. I quickly scooped him into my arms, patting his back softly, desperate to comfort him. Then I remembered the Cadbury chocolate I had saved for today. When I presented it to him, his eyes lit up, and he shouted, “Ammu is the best!” as he hugged me tightly.

Seeing that sparkle in his eyes melted away all my sadness and frustration. I felt so loved, and I knew in that moment how deeply I cared for my baby brother. We played together, ringing rhymes and narrating stories, and I felt like a mother at times, caring for him in my own way. I realized that even though Mom was away, she had entrusted me with this responsibility, and I could take it on.

That weekend, Dad took us out to the beach, the sun shining brightly as we built sandcastles and splashed in the waves. I felt almost whole again, as if the pieces of my heart were slowly coming together.

Finally, after 12 long days, the phone rang one evening. It was Mom! Her voice, filled with warmth and love, reached us across the distance. “I’m getting better, my darlings. I’ll be home soon!” The relief washed over me like a gentle wave, calming my restless heart.

When she finally returned, I felt overwhelmed with joy, as if I had found a lost treasure. Mom stepped into the house with a big smile and bags filled with gifts, bringing us new clothes, toys, and sweet treats. She hugged us tightly, filling the emptiness we had felt for those days.

In that moment, I understood her irreplaceable love. It was as if every hug, every word of encouragement, every moment of her presence filled my heart with warmth and joy. She had a way of making everything right, turning our house back into a home filled with laughter and love.

“I missed you so much, Mom,” I whispered, my voice barely above a murmur. She smiled, wiping away my tears, her eyes sparkling with pride. “I missed you too, Ammu. You took such good care of your little brother. I’m so proud of you!”

That night, as I lay in bed, I reflected on the lessons I had learned in her absence. Love is not just a word; it’s an action, a responsibility, and a bond that can weather any storm. I realized that even at a young age, I could adapt to any situation and find strength within myself.

As I drifted off to sleep, I understood that family is a treasure beyond compare. It’s a bond that holds us together, even when miles apart. And no matter what challenges we face, we are stronger together, guided by love.

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