I don't remember the first time I saw her face.
All I know, she was her.
The first time I wore my glasses, 6 or 7 years old, was the first time when I felt the world is pretty.
I could see everything so clearly.
I could see her face then, finally.
She is her.
I didn't see it clearly back then, but she was always in front of me.
She went out and came back to us, to me.
And then it changed, we were walking side by side.
Hand in hand. I was able to grip her hand.
I told her once, I would like to walk on the sidewalk with her.
She nodded and smiled.
We went out, had fun and came back.
And then it changed again, we will be living apart for years.
I was in front of her, ready for the challenge.
I looked back one last time and I saw that she waved her hand.
She had tears in her eyes.
Suddenly, I questioned my life choices.
For years.
Now, I am always in front of her.
I am going out and come back to her.
She won't be able to walk before me, we won't be able to walk side by side anymore.
And we won't be able to walk together on the sidewalk.
However, I always look back and always hope to keep seeing her.
To see her face.
Face that reminds me that she is her.
She is always her.
My mother.
