Once upon a time there was a mother

Writing about mother, telling about mother, no paper, pen and words can convey it all. Mother is great in a simple, honest form.

"I go through my whole human life

Also not all the mother's lullabies…”

(Nguyen Duy)

Who in life has not at least once heard these heart-wrenching verses, and then absentmindedly remembered their mother, filled with love for their mother, almost in tears.

Once upon a time there was a mother

Sweet lullaby of mother. Illustration photo Internet.

1. Mom, is there anything in this world more sacred, closer, and warmer than a mother's love? Is there anyone who works harder, is more industrious, and makes more sacrifices than a mother? Who can replace a mother in fulfilling all of her duties: carrying a living being for 9 months and 10 days, giving birth, caring for, and educating her child through the long years of joy and sorrow?

Writing about mother, telling about mother, no pen, paper or language can convey it all. Mother is great in a simple, honest form. The wings of the storks and the wings of the hammock, singing lullabies, swaying through summer and autumn, going through cold winter nights "mother lies in the wet place, child rolls in the dry place" to holding the child's hand to teach the child to take his first steps, feeding him spoonfuls of rice and porridge, soothing the pain when the child stumbles...

Mom, the first word I used when I was a toddler, was “Mom”. When I grew up and went far away, tossed about by the storms of life, through all the 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, it was so simple yet every time I called out, I felt excited and overwhelmed. Every time I came home to visit, I called out “Mom” loudly from the alley; when I wanted to whisper something, I also whispered in her ear and when she was no longer there, I became hoarse and startled, calling out over and over again… “Mom!”

Mom, why have you never thought about yourself, even just taking a few minutes to relax? You're always so busy, from housework to neighborhood and family matters. After the market, you roll up your shirt and pants to take care of the fields and garden. When the children are fast asleep, you're still diligently working with the sound of grinding, sewing, and sewing at night...

2. The sun and rain carelessly cover up mother's life, giving her child a fresh figure. Giving her child a new shirt, mother takes for herself a worn-out shirt worn out by countless years. Mother often eats meals slowly to always be the last one left, also because she wants to give her husband and child the best piece. Mother is silent, sparing with words, but radiates a magical shade so that just thinking about it, within her child there is already a green canopy protecting her.

Once upon a time there was a mother

Mother is silent, few words but radiates magical shade... Illustrative photo from Internet.

I was so scared every time my mother cried. It was at the old Tet market when I witnessed the tears of a poor mother who could not buy new clothes for her child. It was when my mother had to ask for old books for her child to study every time school started and then tried her best to comfort and console her child. It was when I was too busy playing or made mistakes that made my mother feel pained…

Mother is kind and considerate, but she hides her own lack of money. Every time I go to school far away from home, she sneaks meager savings and carefully wraps gifts for me to take with me, just because she is worried that I will lack them. Mother, how can I repay all the love you have given me in this life?

Even though I know that one day, my mother will no longer be in this world. I have prepared myself for that, but I still cannot avoid the pain and shock. One year, two years, three years… and many years later, my mother has turned into white clouds and returned to heaven, but I have not had a single day of remembrance. I owe my mother my whole life and will never be able to repay her. Like my mother’s lullaby, I can never go through it all and understand it all in my childhood. Somewhere far away, I wonder if my mother can still hear me calling: “Mom, I am old now/ I sit and miss you, crying like a child…” (Tran Tien).

Ngo The Lam

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