Nothing Can Replace A Mother's Love

It was a Saturday. I can't remember if it was hot or cold, sunny or cloudy, but I do recall that it was a Saturday because of how crowded the mall was.

My mother and I were together.

Mom is not tall. thin. She is nothing special to look at, so it is simple to ignore her amid a throng.

That day, we took slow, unobtrusive strolls across the polished tiles, glancing occasionally into window stores because we both knew we wouldn't be purchasing anything, as usual.

As we were walking, I seem to have been staring up at the folks we passed, initially indifferently and then more intently.

Ladies wore ornate, brightly colored attire, and five-inch heels that clicked meaningfully on the floor. Men with sharp-smelling cologne walked past, their faces devoid of wrinkles from costly creams.

A knot of unease began to form in my chest. I made an effort to get it out, but once it got hold, I was unable to get rid of it. I felt ashamed of my mother since it became more intolerable by the moment and I was unable to ignore it.

I realized that we were in a posh neighborhood. Mom moved us into a modest, expensive apartment complex on the outskirts of our county because she believed the schools would be good there.

Even though we were in a wealthy neighborhood, I recognized for the first time that we didn't belong there as I studied the onlookers and then glared at Mom.

Without opulent lotions to smooth them away, I could see the thick wrinkles surrounding Mom's mouth and eyes. She wore shoes with worn-down soles and poor, tattered clothing with ripped seams. Her hair was too gray for her age, and her eyes were tired from working long hours to make ends meet.

I felt embarrassed as I stared at her.

Although my mother is nothing special, she stood out at that particular moment because of how unremarkable she was.

I ran to the bathroom, mumbling that I would meet her at the clothes outlet around the corner. Even though nobody significant was nearby to see me anyhow, I didn't want to be seen with her.

I reluctantly made my way to the outlet and discovered that Mom wasn't there.

I had to search all the other stores around for her because I had nowhere else to go. I had recently learned that being with her came with secondhand embarrassment, and I was dreading going back to her side.

I could not have made a worse mistake. Mom was carrying a sweater that appeared way too pricey as she stood in the heart of an upscale shopping center.

"This will look good on you," she remarked. Are you interested in it?

It was way too costly. And I kind of nodded, mindlessly, almost.

My words caught in my throat as I looked closely at the petite, tired woman holding a sweater in her hands and a large smile stretching over her narrow face. She seemed thrilled to be giving me something so wonderful.

It seemed as though I had been dumped into a chilly lake.

She spent her money buying me new clothes, which is why hers were old and frayed. She was always so worn out and ragged from working so hard to support me. She was happy with me, therefore she didn't wear jewelry or fragrant scents.

All of a sudden, Mother was stunning and truly amazing in my eyes.

I felt ashamed of myself now, not of her.

"Are you interested in it?" Mom said it again.

"No thanks," I answered, scarcely raising my voice above a whisper.

She gave me a curious and surprised glance at the same time. "Are you certain? I'm sure you had fun with it.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and shook my head. Actually, no. It's not necessary for me.

I proudly walked beside her as we left the store together for the first time. I stopped giving a damn about what the stylish shoppers nearby would think of us. All that mattered was that I was with my mother.

I looked at her weary face, which was now lighted with a soft grin, as we were leaving the mall. It dawned on me that the scars carved into her flesh represented affection and selflessness. Her gray hair bore witness to the years she had devoted to taking care of me, sacrificing her own comfort and wants.

I clasped her hand in mine as we arrived at the parking lot. I said, "In a cool, collected tone, "Thank you, Mom.

She looked at me like I was crazy. For what reason?

"For everything," was my response. "For your love for me, for hardworking, and for always being there."

Tears clouded her eyes as she gripped my hand. She spoke in a gentle voice, "I love you, too."

Everything changed for me on that Saturday. I had a fresh perspective on my mother and could appreciate the breadth of her sacrifices and the depth of her love. She was my remarkable mother now, no longer just an ordinary woman in a crowd.

I promised myself that day that I would never again be ashamed of her. Rather, I would honor her, treasure her, and be appreciative of each and every second we shared.

And so, that evening as we went home, a deep sense of gratitude and love took the place of the shame I had felt earlier. I understood that I was already wealthier than everyone in that affluent area, no matter where life led us. That was especially true while my mother was by my side.

It is true that having a mother makes you the happiest person in the world, and nothing can replace a mother's love.