Thoughts…..

It was a simple call from a cousin on Mother’s Day evening — a casual “What are you up to?” that had me glance around at my plate of dinner, a quiet home, and no fanfare. My husband was away on duty. I was alone… but far from lonely. That brief moment led me to reflect — on the strange grace of motherhood, the calm in solitude, and the silent strength shared by many mothers whose children are far away, living through trying, uncertain circumstances. Yet somehow, like me, they are content — because they just know.

A Call, A Plate, A Thought........
It was a cousin’s call,
“Hey, what you up to this evening?” — that’s all.
A simple question, no grand affair,
Yet I looked around,
To find just me… and an empty chair.

Dinner for one.
The husband away, duty undone.
No candles, no cake, no fuss to claim,
Just peace, warm rice,
And a quiet frame.

No sigh escaped, no self-pity brewed,
For the morning had already
Set the mood.
A call from across oceans,
My son’s voice,
Crisp, alive — my reason, my choice.

But the thought lingered.
What of those mothers whose sons couldn’t dial?
Whose daughters in silence
Still made them smile?
In camps, in chaos, in lands unknown,
With hearts that ache
Yet call it home.

How divine it is…
To know they’re okay.
Even if silence is all the world
Lets them say.
To feel in your bones,
That love still threads,
Across continents, time zones,
And unmade beds.

I raised a toast — not to absence or fate,
But to this strange,
Sacred, quiet state.
Where love isn’t loud,
Nor always near,
But still enough
To wipe a tear.

So yes, I sat alone, but not lonely that night,
For motherhood has
Its own inner light.
Lit not by presence, but by belief—
That even in distance,
There’s no grief.

This piece is a small ode to the quiet strength of mothers — those who sit alone yet feel surrounded by love, who wait without worry, and whose hearts find peace in the unseen threads of connection. Wherever your child may be, may you always feel the warmth of that bond. Because sometimes, love doesn’t need to knock — it’s already home.

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