My son photographed the chair I should have been sitting in

Dear Delyara, My son graduated from university in Canada today. I watched through a livestream that froze every few minutes. When his name was called, the screen turned into colored squares, and by the time the picture returned he was already leaving the stage. Later, he sent photographs. One showed him in his gown beside an empty chair with my name written on a paper sign. He had reserved it even though we both knew my visa application had been refused. I work as a caregiver and have spent twelve years looking after other people’s parents in their homes. I paid his tuition by sleeping in rooms near elderly strangers who called for me at night, while my own child became a man through photographs and short calls arranged around time zones. He wrote beneath the picture, “You were here, Mama.” I know he meant love, sacrifice, memory. Still, the chair looked painfully empty. No body. No handbag beneath it. No mother standing too early when the name was announced. I enlarged the photograph until the sign became blurry. Tonight, one of my patients rang the bell because she wanted water. I placed the phone down, wiped my face, and entered her room smiling. Her son has not visited in eight months.