Every stroke was a memory. Every shadow, a gentle touch. But when he showed his drawing… no one understood.
No one congratulated him. No one hugged him. They only said: — “You should really get over it by now…” — “That’s not going to bring her back…” But he wasn’t trying to bring her back.
He just wanted to feel her close for a moment. He just wanted to tell her, in his own way: “Mom, I still love you.”
Sometimes, children don’t need comfort. They need someone to look at them, to listen to them… And to tell them: “You did well.”
