My mother

My mother is beautiful, both inside and out, a beauty that resembles a painting. The most enviable scene is when my mother supports my father as they walk down the street together. In the sunset, their silhouette, nestled side by side, looks like a vibrant oil painting, deeply etched in my heart, becoming my life’s dream. I hope that one day, my partner and I can recreate this touching scene.

Every day, my mother’s care for my grandmother is like a sketch. In the morning, she opens the window to air the room, empties the urine pot, then heats milk, fries eggs, and serves a warm and nutritious breakfast. For every meal, whatever my grandmother wants, my mother makes. Even though my mother is over sixty, she often walks long distances to the market, carrying heavy groceries back, not minding her exhaustion, and continues to cook lunch. Sometimes, when my grandmother grows impatient and complains, "You're so slow," my mother remains calm and replies, "Mom, I have to walk step by step." My mother’s cooking speed is like a comic strip—quick yet delicious.

My mother’s love is like an exquisite essay, flowing through the years.

I remember when I was young, hearing the neighbor’s little girl crying incessantly. My mother picked me up and rushed over. I saw the neighbor aunt knitting a sweater while her daughter, covered in prickly heat, cried out in pain. My mother put me down, filled a basin with water, and bathed the little girl, applying prickly heat powder. A radiant smile appeared on the little girl’s face. My mother was always so energetic. Once, when my older brother went to the countryside as a sent-down youth, he brought back some cloth. The next day, when he had to leave, my mother stayed up all night cutting and sewing it into clothes, ironing them before she could rest.

The most unforgettable memory is when my over-sixty-year-old sister-in-law was seriously ill and in the hospital. My eighty-year-old mother, who no longer recognized the way, asked me to take her to see her daughter-in-law.

When we entered the hospital room, my sister-in-law saw my mother and cried, saying, "Mom, I’m afraid I won’t make it this time." My mother held her hand and said, "Don’t worry. Now that you’re in the hospital, just listen to the doctors and get well. Once you’re better, I’ll bring you home." The other patients were deeply moved by the strong bond between mother and daughter-in-law.

What they didn’t know is that my mother, due to illness, now repeats the same sentence many times and forgets almost everything, but her love remains real and untouched in her heart, never to be forgotten. Every time we leave her house, as we walk downstairs, we always see her standing on the balcony, watching us leave.

My mother is like a book, one I will spend my whole life reading. She has supported us with her frail shoulders, creating a vast blue sky for us. My father is the eldest son, with a younger brother and sister. My mother gets along with my uncle and aunt like they are her own siblings. In 1994, my eighty-eight-year-old grandmother passed away. My aunt said, "Grandmother gave so much to her three children. The funeral costs should be shared equally among them." But my mother said, "My aunt’s son hasn’t married yet, and my uncle’s health isn’t good, so I’ll cover their share."

My mother always thinks of others, and most of all, she thinks about my father. Loving my father is my mother’s lifelong lesson. My father works diligently, and after dinner every day, he often goes back to his work unit to check on the production line. Sometimes, he encounters problems and returns home late. My mother always waits for him to return before going to bed. It is because of my mother’s support that my father, who came from a poor background with only a junior school education, was appointed as an engineer by the State Council in 1960 through self-study and hard work. He helped solve production problems for the glass factories. In 1984, he took part in the construction of the Qinhuangdao Glass Factory and was responsible for all technical work, achieving a successful ignition and production process on the first try. In 1987, he led a project to switch production to tea-colored glass, completing the task in seventy-two hours—much faster than advanced Japan, which needed a week—filling a gap in the domestic market, saving foreign exchange for the country, and generating economic benefits for the company. My father’s success is a result of my mother’s deep love and support.

Indeed, marrying a good woman brings happiness to three generations, and even contributes to society.

Looking into my mother’s beautiful, uplifting eyes, I see the depth of her love and her progressive spirit; her thin lips symbolize her selflessness and her habit of giving love to others; her sharp nose reflects her sense of duty and responsibility; her fair skin represents her calmness and composure. My mother is a book I will never stop reading in this lifetime!