“Promise me, son, to come backI won’t be able to bear your absence.be merciful to a heart that has barely dodgedthe aches of all the years”She said, fixing her headscarf tighter, voice creakyshe hugged me, but didn’t cryI did.She didn’t kiss me goodnight or read a bedtime storyoftendidn’t bathe or play hide and seekdidn’t push me on a swingoftendidn’t take me to schooloftenHer fingers were always rough,the needle left eternal marksafter nights of fixing the holes in my socksjust after laying out mattresses on the floorso we could all sleep, my eight siblings and Ijust after she collected the washingjust after she wrote down how much she spent that dayjust after she left the door open in case my Father would returnafter finding something to burn while the electricity was outafter she gazed at the sky to look out for dronesafter she found a quiet spot in the house to cryafter filling the water barrels ready for the next day,after doing her night prayerswhile watching me, all of uspraying that she is able to do the same thing tomorrowshe didn’t kiss me goodnightoftenbut I did play cards with hershe often wonand laughedI watchedI don’t want to die before I watch that again