It was not until noon that Mom finally stood up, swaying on her feet.Dad steadied her by the arm.They walked slowly, the two of them.Once in the car, they did not head home.Instead, they drove toward the Elder Hall.Dad drove the whole way in silence.Mom sat in the passenger seat, staring at the charm hanging from the rearview mirror.Set into it was a family portrait.One taken twenty years ago, of Dad and Mom and my sister together.The colors had faded to near white, yet the happiness on their faces showed through still.There were many photographs like that at home.Twenty years ago, my parents took hundreds of pictures with my sister.Of me, there were only a scattered few from childhood.And in every one, I had been dressed to look like her.A red ribbon tied in my hair, a long red dress on my body.Mom would not let me smile.So my expression was stiff and resistant.Mom did not like the results.Probably because no matter how she looked at them, I did not look enough like
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