Svitlana sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, gazing out the window where autumn leaves drifted slowly. A letter lay on the table—yellowed with age, its ink slightly faded. She had found it recently among her mother’s old belongings. Simple words, yet they made her chest ache.
*”My dear daughter, if you ever notice me growing old—please, be patient…”* That was how the letter began.
Memories rushed back—times she had snapped at her mother when she struggled with a new phone, sighing, *”Mom, how many times do I have to explain?”* And her mother would just smile softly, repeating the question as if unaware of her frustration.
Evenings filled with stories replayed in her mind. Her mother used to sit at this very table, retelling tales of her childhood, the war, her first years in the city. Back then, Svitlana would brush them off—*”Do we really have to hear this again?”* Now… now she’d give anything to hear that voice once more: calm, warm, so familiar it had once seemed unremarkable.
She remembered her mother holding her hand on the way to kindergarten, kissing her goodnight and telling bedtime stories—as many times as Svitlana asked. How gently she coaxed her into the bath when the little girl resisted. How patiently she had taught her to tie shoelaces, braid hair, eat with a spoon.
Now everything was different. Svitlana was a mother herself. And she understood—those words in the letter weren’t just a request. They were her mother’s testament about love. A reminder to stay close, even when age made a person fragile, slow, sometimes clumsy.
She rose from the table and looked at her mother’s photo. She was no longer here—but something greater remained: memories, warmth, a love that never faded. And she promised herself—if her own daughter ever noticed her wrinkles or forgetfulness, she wouldn’t take offense. Because now she knew—the most important thing was simply being together. Holding a hand. Loving without words or conditions.
Carefully, Svitlana folded the letter and tucked it away with her most treasured keepsakes. Then she whispered into the quiet:
*”I love you too, Mom… Always 🌼.”*
Dear Daughter, If You Notice My Age, Please Be Patient…
