I find myself noticing lines on Mom’s face that I’ve never seen before. In the span of a second, shots of our time together flash through my head, and for a moment I’m floating outside of my body, watching myself become aware of the brevity of time. How in the heck did ten years pass by without me raging against it? And I don’t mean in an angry way with my fist in the air. I mean in a rebellious way, in a passionate way. How did I let time slip through my fingers?