Who is Mom's friend?

Occasionally, my mother would ask about her children's friends. Had Huong gotten married yet? Was Hue's IVF treatment successful? Poor girl, so beautiful and talented, yet fate seemed to punish her. Then, one day, my friend also received good news after three IVF attempts. My mother would occasionally call to ask how Hue was doing. Carrying twins must be exhausting, right? My mother even reminded her, "Tell your friend to rest and not overwork herself." On the day my friend gave birth, my mother insisted I take her to visit. She prepared chicken, some sticky corn, and black beans—all good things for a new mother. As I drove her along the long, winding road, I suddenly wondered who my mother's friend was? Why didn't she often talk about her friends? Or was it because I lacked attention, only knowing how to receive unconditional love from my mother that extended to all her friends?

For decades, I rarely saw my mother's friends visit our house. Since she got married, she's had almost no friends left. The shame of poverty made her reluctant to meet friends. In the past, she was the village beauty queen, with fair skin, curly hair, and a cute, chubby figure that attracted many suitors. The hardship of raising three children, enduring droughts and famines, had worn her down to the point where even her friends could barely recognize her. She feared the pitying glances of her friends, so she stayed quietly at home.

Old friends have all gone their separate ways. Of my two closest friends, one is now in a wheelchair due to an accident, and her children and grandchildren have taken her to the South to care for her. The other was trafficked across the border decades ago and we haven't been in contact since. Then, one day, my mother called to tell me that her friend had just come to visit. Her voice was as joyful as a child's: "Tonight I get to sleep with my friend. It's been almost 40 years since we had the chance to lie down and chat." That was Hoa, my friend who had been trafficked across the border and had finally found her way home after all these years.

Ms. Hoa had kidney stone surgery and was hospitalized at Bach Mai Hospital for a whole week. My mother called and told me all sorts of things, then hesitantly said, "Whenever you have time, remember to visit Ms. Hoa. She has no children, and when she's sick, there's no one to take care of her. It's so sad. If I weren't busy looking after the grandchildren, I would have taken the train to the hospital to be with her. She often asks about you."

I know my mother is reluctant to bother her children and grandchildren. If it weren't for Ms. Hoa's circumstances, my mother probably wouldn't have asked me to visit her in the hospital. But I'm so busy with work, from dawn until late at night every day. By the time I finish, visiting hours are over, and I keep putting it off... Then my mother called to say Ms. Hoa had returned home. Actually, she wasn't home; she was just staying at an old acquaintance's house. My mother said, "Tomorrow I'll bring her to our house until she's completely recovered."

Today, my mother's friend flew to Saigon to work as a domestic helper for a family she knows. This isn't a trip of a few days or months; it might be a long time before she returns to the North. That also means it will be a long time before my mother has the chance to see her again. I imagine my mother lying alone in her room, tears welling up in her eyes as she misses her friend. These are the pillows she slept on, the way she praised the beautiful Buddha painting hanging in the room. That vase where she bought lotus flowers to put in. On some afternoon on the porch, they sat together plucking gray hairs from each other's heads... My mother even promised that if she ever had a place to live in her old age, she would build her a small house in the corner of the garden, where they could live together, relying on each other. Just these images alone are enough to fill me with sadness…

My mother doesn't have many friends, so why was I so thoughtless? I should have stopped by the airport this afternoon to say hello. To give her a few hundred thousand dong for her trip. To hold her hand and say, "Mom is lonely at home, remember to keep in touch." To suggest, "Why don't you stay in Hanoi ? There are plenty of jobs here. I can help you find one." But I always had excuses about being busy. And now, my heart is filled with self-reproach and sorrow. My mother always showered her children with boundless love. She loved her friends, colleagues, and even neighbors. But how often do children think about their parents' joys and sorrows? How often do they care about the relationships that are so important in their mother's life? How many of us have ever asked who our mother's friends are? How are our mother's friends living?

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