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Wendy Smith, USA

Waving Goodbye

Watching my mother fumble through her pockets at the elevator, dropping candy wrappers, tissues, and balls of crinkled lists, I was stabbed with loss. She's getting old—really old. She no longer cares about her appearance the way she used to and that was all she used to care about. She's even losing interest in trying to control me. I should feel liberated and yet I want to break down and cry. I want to stomp up and down and beg time to stop. Stop the wrinkling of her mind and the shaking in her hands and the trembling in my heart.

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