The first time I saw the crow was four months ago. My mother’s health had been deteriorating for quite some time due to her old age. I was walking home from school, I remember feeling the sun beating down on me, and looking up. It’s like when you’re driving late at night and somebody’s headlights blind you, you can’t help but look at what the hell is so bright. Even if you know what it is. I look up and see the crow doing slow laps around the entire neighborhood. I didn’t believe it at first, and proceeded to convince myself that it was for the man two doors down. I knew he was sick and that his family shared our fears. The second time I saw it was three weeks later, when I was coming home from the grocery store. Lapping our neighborhood again, but this time, the perimeter was smaller. Only my street was being watched. My heart sank. It’s for the man two doors down, we have more time. She had a good day yesterday. My mom loves to watch different romantic dramas on the television, and despite seeing them start to finish hundreds of times, she gets to experience them as if it’s her first time watching. It makes me wonder what it would be like to watch my favorite shows again for the first time. Maybe someday I will. Yesterday, though, she laughed before they told the joke. She remembered. And for that moment, she felt peace and joy. The third time I saw the crow, I was looking for it. Taking a morning walk had become apart of my morning routine. Six weeks later, I meet my friend again. Circling maybe half the street, as if she’s going on my walk with me. It hurt.