Louise Rose
.
It feels like just yesterday, yet a month has already passed. As I glanced at my mother's name on her urn, I also looked at her picture beside it. I resemble her. She's beautiful, and I just look like her.
For years, I have refused to look at her photos from Rosy's old albums. I didn't want to see her at that moment, nor did I want her image to linger in my mind. I didn't feel any anger towards her. I just didn't want to imagine what she looked like.
Ideally, Rosy embodies the motherly figure I've always cherished, and during moments of hardship and solitude, it's her face I long for most.
I have no regrets.
If I were to look at old photos of my mother and notice how much I resemble her, I might feel resentment. Whenever I see my reflection, I see my mother, which prevents me from finding peace.
As a child, I had many questions about why she left me with Rosy and why she never came back. But that was in the past. It’s all behind us now, and we are left with the answers
