21/01/2026
My dear child
I don't know if anyone will ever read these words. but I feel the need to write them down. lI am an old woman now, living quietly n a small nursing home. My body is weak, my steps are slow, and my days are mostly filled with silence. The hallways echo with the sound of nurses' shoes and the occasional aughter of visitors, but many times, I sit alone, waiting... just waiting,
When I was vounger, I had a family. I raisec children, kissed scraped knees, cooked meals, and worked hard to give them a good ife. My hands were strong then. Thev held babies, wiped away tears, folded laundry and held my husband's hand until the day he had to leave this world before me. These same hands that once carried so much love now tremble as I hold my spoon at dinner,
Sometimes, I look at the door and hope it wil open. I hope to hear a familiar voice call my name. A hug, a smile, a "How are you, Mom?" would mean more to me than all the riches in the world. But many days, the door never opens. The chair beside mv bed remainsI know life is busy outside these walls. My children have jobs, grandchildren have schools and activities, and evervone has responsibilities. But sometimes I wonder... have I become iust a memorv to them? Do thev remember the times I staved up all night when thev were sick, or the sacrifices I made so thev could have more than I ever did?
Please, if you are reading this, remember your parents, your grandparents, the elderly who once stood strong for you. One day, you may sit in a quiet room like mine, waiting for a familiar face to walk through the door. A simple visit, a phone call, or even a handwritten note could mean the world to someone like me.
I may be old, my hair may be gray, and my memory not as sharp as it used to be... but my heart still beats with love. All I ask is not to be forgotten.