When I had lost my son in April this year, I prayed that no other mother has to face the same pain that I was going through. But unfortunately, in the last eight months, I have seen and heard about innumerable parents undergoing the pain of having been separated from their children. Some lost their children to disease while others to accident, but the most unfortunate of all was losing their children to terrorist attack. The loss that they have suffered is irreparable. The pain that they are undergoing is unimaginable.
Somebody asked what do you call a parent who has lost their child. I call them living dead. Every breath they take reminds them of their loss. Every face, every festivity, every playground, every school, every toy shop, every family, every baby store, every stand of small clothes, everything around them reminds them of their loss. Not only they have lost their child, they have lost their dreams, they have lost their hope, they have lost their reason for living, they have lost their prayers. They have lost their identity. They have lost their future. They exist but they do not live. Their laughter is hollow, their eyes always wet. They have lost all that they were or had ever hoped to be.
Somebody asked what do you call a parent who has lost their child. I call them living dead. Every breath they take reminds them of their loss. Every face, every festivity, every playground, every school, every toy shop, every family, every baby store, every stand of small clothes, everything around them reminds them of their loss. Not only they have lost their child, they have lost their dreams, they have lost their hope, they have lost their reason for living, they have lost their prayers. They have lost their identity. They have lost their future. They exist but they do not live. Their laughter is hollow, their eyes always wet. They have lost all that they were or had ever hoped to be.
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