To the world, they are mothers;
to families, they are treasures.
They wake before the first sound of morning,
moving quietly through unfinished dreams,
carrying the weight of another day
with hands already tired from yesterday.
They know the language of silence.
A child does not always speak pain aloud,
yet somehow they hear it
in the closing of a door,
in untouched food,
in eyes that avoid the light.
Their love is rarely announced.
It appears in small offerings,
water left beside a bed,
a warning repeated for the hundredth time,
a prayer whispered into darkness
when everyone else has fallen asleep.
They stand between fear and hope
more often than anyone notices.
Even when uncertainty surrounds them,
they become shelter,
teaching courage not through speeches
but through endurance.
Time changes their faces gently.
The years leave marks behind,
lines shaped by worry,
by laughter,
by sacrifices never mentioned
because they were given freely.
And long after children grow older,
after homes become quieter,
their presence remains like warmth in a room.
Not temporary.
Not replaceable.
A treasure carried for life.
Sr Emmanuella Dakurah, HHCJ (Catholic Sister Communicators Network-Ghana.)
