Writing about my mother, telling the story of my mother, is something no pen or words can fully convey. My mother is great in her simple, unassuming form.
"We live our entire lives as human beings."
"I still can't fully grasp all the words of my mother's lullaby..."
(Nguyen Duy)
Who in their life hasn't heard these heart-wrenching verses, leaving them lost in thought, remembering their mother, and feeling a deep love for her, almost to the point of tears?
The sweet lullaby of a mother. (Image source: Internet)
1. Mother, tell me, is there anything in this world more sacred, closer, or warmer than a mother's love? Tell me, is there anyone more hardworking, diligent, and self-sacrificing than a mother? Who could possibly replace a mother in fulfilling all those duties: carrying a life for nine months and ten days, giving birth, nurturing, and educating her child through the long years filled with countless joys and sorrows?
Writing about my mother, telling the story of my mother, no pen or words can fully convey it. My mother is great in her simple, unassuming form. From the heron and stork nestled in a hammock, humming lullabies, swaying through summer and autumn, enduring the cold winter nights where "mother lies in the wet spot, child rolls in the dry one," to holding my hand as I took my first steps, feeding me spoonfuls of rice and porridge, comforting me when I stumbled and fell…
"Mom," the first word I uttered when I was a baby, was "Mom." Later, as I grew up and went far away, facing the storms of life, through countless joys and sorrows, happiness and pain, the first person I thought of and called out was "Mom." "Mom"—I never fully understood the meaning of that word, so simple, yet each time I uttered it, I felt a surge of emotion, a burst of tears. Every time I visited home, I would call out "Mom" loudly from the end of the lane; when I wanted to whisper something, I would whisper it in her ear; and when she was gone, my voice would become hoarse, startled, and I would call out again and again… "Mom!"
Mother, why have you never once thought of yourself, even for just a few minutes of rest? You just keep toiling away, doing housework, then dealing with neighbors and relatives. After the market, you roll up your sleeves and work in the fields and gardens. When your children are asleep, your diligent presence is still there, along with the rhythmic sounds of grinding, pounding, and sewing at night…
2. The sun and rain relentlessly covered my mother's life, giving me a vibrant and healthy form. She gave me her new clothes, accepting only the worn-out ones worn through countless years. She often ate slowly at meals, always wanting to be the last to leave, so that her husband and children could have the best pieces. My mother was quiet and reserved, yet she radiated a wondrous shade; just thinking of her filled me with a protective green canopy.
My mother was quiet and reserved, yet she radiated a wondrous coolness... (Image for illustration purposes only - Internet)
I'm so scared every time my mother cries. It's the tears of sorrow I witnessed at the Tet market in the old days, the tears of a poor mother who couldn't afford to buy her child a new outfit. It's the times she had to beg for old books for me to study at the start of each school year, then tried her best to comfort and console me. It's the times I was too busy playing or made mistakes that caused her so much pain…
My mother was so kind and thoughtful, secretly harboring a deep-seated need for sustenance. Every time I went away to study, she would discreetly pack my meager savings, carefully wrapping various gifts and treats for me to take with me, all because she worried I might lack something. Oh Mother, how can I ever repay the immeasurable love and kindness you bestowed upon me in this life?
Even though I knew that one day my mother would no longer be in this world, and I had prepared myself for it, I still couldn't avoid the sorrow and shock. One year, two years, three years… and many more years after that, my mother has turned into a white cloud and gone to heaven, but not a single day has passed without me remembering and missing her. I owe my mother a debt I owe her my whole life, and I will never be able to repay it. Like her lullaby, I can never fully understand it all in my childishness. Somewhere far away, I wonder if my mother can still hear my voice calling out: "Mother, I am old now / I sit here missing you and crying like a child…" (Tran Tien).
Ngo The Lam
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