When she left, we cried both. < img src = "https://zycie.news/crrops/2a532d/620x0/1/0/2025/03/31/ihyirn9kxj2qnmv70mxiftuxuic99ys17ics.jpg" alt = "old lady @pexels" styles = "background-color: rgba (85.85.85.1)" > < p > she & ndash; Because she leaves everything she knew. I & ndash; Because she stays without her. She promised to call. That even Kr & oacute; but every day.

< p > m & oacute; Wiła: < br />< br /> & amp. & AMP; Bdquo; Mom, don't worry. It's just a job to have a better start. We are a family. We will always be close. & Amp;

< P >I believed. As a mother always believes. Because the mother's love knows no boundaries & ndash; neither geographical nor emotional.

< p > at the beginning she wrote every day. Then every few days. P & oacute; only when she had a problem. And finally & Hellip; silence.

< p > only once in a while Kr & oacute; & AMP; Bdquo; Everything okay, don't call. Work. & Amp;

< p > and I sat in the evenings in the kitchen, with a phone in my hand, and watched if the screen would light up. It did not light up. But when one day she wrote:

< p > — & AMP; Bdquo; Mom, I need money. I am begging you. < p > I didn't hesitate. Although I have a modest pension myself. Although I count every penny. I gave what I had. Because then I was knowing her mother. On & oacute; she needed me. Wr & oacute; only for a moment & ndash; for transfer.

< p > then silence again. I don't want money back. It's not about that. The point is that I am only a mother when something needs.

< p > and when I just want to hear how he feels, what he does, or sometimes laughs & ndash; I am not important.

< p > once a neighbor called: < br /> & mdash; & AMP; Bdquo; Your C & Amp; Oacute; Rka uploaded photos from holidays. So well, she radiates. < P > I looked at these photos. With a smile, in a new dress, with a glass in your hand. And I sat alone, with a turn off the lamp, and I asked myself:

< P > & BDQUO; Is it really so difficult to write one word: Mom ? & # rdquo;

< p > Maybe someday Wr & oacute; Maybe someday he would remember who first held her hand when she was afraid. Maybe.

< p > but I know one thing: I don't want to be a mother only when you need to save someone's life.

< p > I want to be a mother when you just remember.

Natasha Kumar

By Natasha Kumar

Natasha Kumar has been a reporter on the news desk since 2018. Before that she wrote about young adolescence and family dynamics for Styles and was the legal affairs correspondent for the Metro desk. Before joining The Times Hub, Natasha Kumar worked as a staff writer at the Village Voice and a freelancer for Newsday, The Wall Street Journal, GQ and Mirabella. To get in touch, contact me through my natasha@thetimeshub.in 1-800-268-7116