When I was younger, I would sit with my mother and glide my hands across her face, while my eyes were closed.
She didn’t mind it. She thought it was strange. But it was soothing.
My dad once asked me why I close my eyes.
“So, if I ever go blind, I’ll know what she looks like. I see her with my hands.” I said to him.
My mother came to me, with tears in her eyes and kissed my eyes.