Warm embraces, soft knitted sweaters, and calming cups of chamomile fill my mind as I long for my mother. I haven’t seen her in ages and all the comforts she would swaddle me in are fading from my memory. My mother and I always connected with a dependency on each other. While my father would stand regally in a pressed suit with a bowtie gleaming in pretension, my mother would bring the serenity and calmness to our family. She always said that I made her feel like she meant something; like she had a bigger importance than just being the wife that lives in her important husband’s shadow. She was my confidant, my trusting coach of life, and I was that to her too. I can’t imagine how I would feel watching her on the fuzzy screen that eeks out death before proclaiming the anthem of a demented society.

Reality throws a cruel punch as I realize that mother has to watch me through that screen. Just as my heart is begging me to cry out my woes, a metallic-wrapped package floats down to me like an angel. The tsunami of bottled up feelings I have been holding on to leaks out as I let out a soft cry of joy and whisper thank you to the no-doubt sighing audience of this ridiculous show. I am expecting a message, an inspiration, anything to keep my hopes up, and when I see a camera, I want to smash it. I have been on camera while people die and kill and my mentor decides all I need is another camera? The smashing idea is pretty tempting, but I know that everything my mentor does is for a reason. As a little reflection of myself appears and a red dot turns on, joy dances in my heart and with a gasp I whisper, “Mother”.