When I saw her, I cried out of grief and distress. She was mean, but I loved her dearly. I do not have a photo with her because whenever I try to take one, she will always say that she is too wrinkled and ugly that the camera might give up on her image. I always thought otherwise.

During the last days of quality time spent with her, I missed the chance to tell her how much I love her. How much I wanted to hug her but I can't because she keeps on driving me away for the reason that she can't remember who I was.

She always called me Monet, the name she always wanted when I was born. She disproved of Ochi for she thought the name didn't give thanks to any of the saints. During her dying moment, she uttered 'Ochi'. I felt it, it was different, unusual and painful.

I always remind her to call me Ochi instead of Monet, but then again, if Monet would bring her back, I'll promise to keep that name.