My Mom was born 96 years ago. Seldom does a day pass that I don’t think of her. Even though I am now a great-grandfather myself, when our parents leave this world, something within us quietly changes. The world doesn’t end, but we lose the simple comfort of being someone’s child. The arms that once felt like home. The kisses that made pain disappear. The words that told us, “Everything will be okay,” and made us believe it. Without them, life feels less protected. Their love was a shelter we didn’t realize we depended on until it was gone.

When parents are no longer here, we become orphans in a way no age can prevent. Even if our hair has turned grey, even if we’ve built lives, families, and responsibilities of our own, there is still a child inside us who feels lost.

I remember riding up the road towards home after my last grandparent had passed away. Suddenly, it dawned on me that I was no longer a grandson. An entire generation was gone. When my Mom passed three years ago, another generation slipped into eternity.

Deep inside, we long for a place where love is unconditional, and my Mama’s love was. A place I once ran to without thinking. That refuge doesn’t disappear loudly; it leaves softly, silently, forever.

I love you, Mama, and look forward to the day when I will see you again.