That day, the house was full of people.
They sat in the living room, some standing at the back, all dressed neatly. Dark-skinned faces with gentle eyes and soft voices filled the air. Some carried Bibles, some held their spouses' hands, others carried small children older than Nathan.
A pastor stood before a small table turned into an altar. On it lay candles, flowers, and an empty frame, perhaps waiting for a photo not yet printed.
Nathan rested in Oma's lap. He wore a tiny white outfit, his arms and legs snugly covered, his head wrapped in a little knitted cap.
He looked around.
"Everyone here… has dark skin. Just like Papa, Oma, Opa…"
"Papa's face looks like a younger version of Opa," he thought, blinking slowly. "Does that mean my face is Papa's baby version?"
He glanced down. His tiny hands. His fingers. Then he rolled his eyes left and right, hoping to find a mirror somewhere. None.
"Why won't anyone show me a mirror? I want to know what I look like too!"
He grumbled inside. But no one knew. All they could hear… were the murmurs and cries of an ordinary baby.
The service began. The pastor prayed. A few nodded quietly. Some bowed their heads, tears slipping down their cheeks.
Nathan turned to see Papa, standing stiffly in the corner of the room. His fists clenched. His gaze fixed straight on the altar.
Oma held Nathan tighter.
And Nathan asked in his heart, yet again:
"Why is everyone praying… but no one speaks of Mama?"
—
The prayers continued to flow. To Nathan they sounded like a long murmur, rising and falling like waves, sometimes soothing, sometimes pressing on his chest until he could hardly breathe.
Then one sentence pierced through the haze of sound.
"We give thanks for the birth of Nathaniel Tallo…"
Nathan froze.
Nathaniel Tallo? Who's that? Hey, that's not my name. Wait…
He lingered on the thought. His awareness floated somewhere between two worlds: the one he had left, and the one he had yet to understand.
Of course, I've just been born. I must have a new name now. But… who was I before? Why do I know I'm twenty-eight? Why do I feel… something's still unfinished?
The next prayer followed, soft and solemn:
"And for Maria Suyoto, who is now with You in heaven…"
The name struck like a silent bolt of lightning.
Nathan's tiny eyes widened.
Maria Suyoto?… He bit down on his small tongue. That name… I know that name. I swear I do. I… I know her…
But the memory came only halfway. A faint smile. A gentle voice that so often whispered Nak.
A face blurred, but radiant with warmth.
His fists clenched inside the blanket.
He wanted to cry, but not the ordinary wail of a newborn.
This cry welled up from somewhere deeper, like mourning for a loss he could not yet name, grief for something torn away before he even understood it.
And amid the long stream of prayers, Nathan began to realize…
That someone who loved him more than anything… might never be able to hold him in her arms.
---
Suddenly, like a soft light slipping through eyelids too weak to open fully, an image appeared.
A woman.
Shoulder-length hair. Fair skin. Eyes that curved into crescents when she smiled.
And that smile… like the morning sun, warm, yet calming.
Nathan was transfixed.
"Maria…" he whispered in his heart, as if calling out to an old friend whose name he had only just remembered.
Then he choked on the thought.
"Wait, Maria Suyoto… that's Mama's name?!"
His heartbeat, or whatever pulsed inside his tiny chest, raced faster. Regret swelled within him.
"How bold of me, blurting out her name like that… I should have said Mama. Or Mother. Or… what did I call her before?"
And yet, somehow, the name "Maria" had slipped straight from his heart. As if it were an old memory leaping across the boundaries of body and time.
The vision did not fade. Her face remained gentle, gazing at Nathan as though she could truly see into him. Her lips never moved, yet Nathan could feel her voice, the same one he had heard while still in the dark.
The voice that once said, "Forgive me, my child… Mama is often sad."
Tears welled inside him.
But not from hunger. Not from a wet diaper.
His cry rose from a loss he had never learned to name…
a loss that now, at last, began to take shape in a single word:
Maria Suyoto.
---
His still-blurry eyes moved slowly, tracing the walls of the house where he now lay.
Several picture frames hung there.
A photo of Papa holding a guitar. A photo of Grandpa and Grandma in front of a church. A family portrait taken many Christmases ago.
But… not a single one showed the face of the woman with shoulder-length hair.
"No Mama… There's no picture of Mama."
A strange feeling crept into his tiny chest, far too small to contain a longing that vast.
His hand lifted faintly, as if to point, or to call… or simply to wish he could touch that fleeting shadow once more.
But his body was already too tired.
His eyelids sank shut.
His breathing slowed.
And Nathan drifted into sleep, with a single name still echoing faintly in his mind:
Maria…
---
Days passed. That tiny body slowly grew, following the rhythm of time. But within it, an adult awareness remained alive. Watching. Absorbing. Remembering.
With every little milestone, Nathan always had someone to talk to. Not Papa, not Grandma. But…
"Mama, Mama… my neck is holding up now!" he whispered in his heart, lifting his head from the small pillow.
Sometimes his body wobbled and toppled to the side again. But he only chuckled softly.
"That's okay. Tomorrow I'll be stronger. You must be proud of me, right, Mama?"
The next day, he tried to roll onto his side. Again and again he failed. But he never gave up.
And when he finally managed it…
"Mama! I can roll over! I did it all by myself!"
When alone, he even wanted to clap for himself.
Then the day came: he pushed himself onto his stomach. His breath came short and ragged, but his smile was unstoppable.
"I can lie on my tummy, Mama! Look, I can do it! You see me, don't you? You must see me…"
No one answered, only the soft breeze slipping through the half-open window.
But Nathan believed Mama could hear. Mama knew.
For in the silence, in the faint shadow that always came when he grew weary, Mama was always there, smiling, watching him with endless love.
---