My Mother by Sharon Hii(3A)

                Everyone around me seemed to have a close mother-daughter relationship with their mothers.  Unfortunately, I was the only exception.  My mother, married to my father John, had given birth to two daughters.  Though being the youngest, I did not get the same attention as my older sister.  I was jealous of all the love she got from mum. 

                Mother and I often fought.  Our antagonism reached its climax one day.  We shouted loudly at each other. 

                “You are very rude,” hissed mum.  “I regret giving birth to you.”

                “I had no choice,” I countered. “You have never done a good job as a mother.”

 “You are not half as good as your friend Jen,” said mum coldly.  “She appreciates what her mother does very much.”

Her remarks hurt me deeply. She shouldn’t have compared me with that girl.  I held back my tears and told myself that I would prove her wrong.  I would show her a completely different me.  I ran into my room and packed all my things. I was twenty one, old enough to take care of myself.  I rushed out from home and swore that I would never come back. Home?  What was home?  It was just a place for me to sleep.  That was all.

                Determined not to let my family discover my whereabouts, I stayed in my best friend, Luna’s house, which was far away from my home.  My father and sister were trying all the methods to find me but to no avail. Why did everything turn out like this? It was just because of a fight.  My self-pride made me unable to come to a compromise with my mother.  Admittedly, I really missed home.  I missed my mother’s cooking, which was the best of the best.  Why did I only realize that after leaving home? 

                Days turned into months, and months into years. I was still firm in my decision not to reconcile and reunite with my mother.  Honestly speaking, I did not have the courage. Being four years away from my family, I had always felt alone and insecure.  On the recommendation of Luna’s father, I worked part time in a book shop to earn a living.  I did not forsake my studies though.  I enrolled in an adult night class. I studied very hard and graduated with flying colours.  I ended up becoming a lecturer, earning lucrative pay.  Although I was able to earn my own keep, my heart felt empty.  I told Luna how much I missed my mother and she suggested that I look for her in church, the one I had used to go to with my family during my childhood. 

                The drive to the church seemed to take forever.  A flood of memories surged through my troubled mind.  Upon arrival at the church, my heart pounded very fast.   

I dipped my trembling fingers into the stoup of holy water at the entrance and made the sign of the cross. “Mum, here I come,” I muttered to myself as I walked into the church.  It had the same building, the same flowers and the same fountain which were vivid in my mind.  My eyes roved around checking every corner of the interior but my mother was not in sight.  It was unusual of her not to be praying here at this hour. Feeling both relieved and disappointed, I entered the front pew and knelt down to pray.  I importuned God to give me strength to seek forgiveness from my mother. We had been apart from each other for so long and it was time for both of us to bury the hatchet.  The moment I finished my prayer, I realized that a familiar-looking priest was walking towards me from the altar.  He was Father Anthony, my family’s close friend.  Despite the fact that I looked quite different from before, he still remembered me.  

“Angel, how are you?” Father Anthony asked, his voice gentle and laced with concern.

“I am …..”  There was a lump in my throat.  I was overwhelmed by strong emotions.

“Calm down,” The priest said. “Tell me what happened.”

 I took a deep breath and tell him what had happened between me and my mother four years before. 

“I wish to reconcile with my mother,” I rasped, with tears welling up in my eyes.  “I hope she won’t be angry with me anymore.”

“Child, I’m sure she won’t,” Father Anthony assured me.

“How is my mother?” I asked.

Father Anthony‘s face became grim all of a sudden.

I looked at him with puzzlement.  He put his hand into his cassock pocket and took out a letter and a gift box.

“The letter and the box are from your mum,” Father Anthony said, handing me both items.  “She knew that you would come back here looking for her one day.”

I saw my name on the envelope and recognized my mum’s cursive, slightly sloped handwriting.  The little box was tied up with a yellow ribbon, my favourite way of decorating gift boxes.  Hastily, I opened the letter and read it.

Dear Angel,

                I have a feeling that you might not want to read this while I am still alive.  However, I entrusted Father Anthony to pass it to you, if you ever come to this church again.  What I want to say is that, mummy is really sorry for what happened.  You are not a bad daughter. In fact, I have always been proud of you.  You may not have realized that, but mummy really loves you.  I wish you all the best and live well.  If God’s willing, we might meet again.  I know you hate mummy a lot.  Please forgive me.

                                                                                                                                                Love,

                                                                                                                                                Mummy

I burst into tears and asked Father Anthony where my mother was. 

With a sad face he told me, “I’m sorry, Angel.  Your mother passed away last month.  I have always been waiting for you to come here.  Two years ago, she was diagnosed with cancer.  She did all the therapies but her condition did not improve.  Her last wish was to see you.”

I felt like my life was over.  Stupid child! Why did I run away from home?  If only I had endured it longer, things would not have been as irreversible as now.  Tears could not stop rolling down my cheeks.  I opened the box and looked inside.  There were a small photograph of my mother and me, the hair clip that I had used as a kindergarten kid and my favourite mini apple lollipop.  I really regretted leaving.  My head was filled with a lot of “what if…” and “if only…”

Now, I have reunited with my father and sister.  I visit my mother’s grave once every week.  Her tomb is what I talk to all the time.  I know she is listening to me and protecting me from above.  I can feel her presence.  I have learnt my lesson and am always grateful for what I have.  To make sure the same thing will not happen again, I appreciate my father, my sister and all my loved ones.  One day, I will see my mother again in Heaven.