Family Stories | Once Upon a Time Mom

Kyle, who will be in fourth grade after the summer, has started reading Sherlock Holmes these days. Everywhere you can see him reading intently with a book, by the wall, in the shade of a tree, in the corner of a large sofa chair, my little boy the whole person into the weird mysterious world of Sherlock Holmes, anyone who walks past him, he can not pay attention.

But occasionally, he would suddenly call out loudly.

"Mommy, Mommy."

After I answered him, he stopped making noises. Sometimes, when I was in another room and didn't hear him, he would come to me with a high pitched call, with a slight sound of anxiety and fear in his voice. He said.

"Nothing, just checking to see if you were there."

I couldn't help but smile, this little boy! He must have been terrified by the plot of the book and refused to reveal it to me, so he had to come back to the real world at any time to seek my company. As long as he knew his mother was around, he could be brave enough to follow Sherlock Holmes on his adventures again, right?

So, these hot afternoons, I deliberately found something to walk around him, feeling at peace, knowing that my little boy still needed my company and that I was a happy mother.

I used to think that my mother didn't love me.

That's because I always felt that I was the least loved of the five children.

I didn't have the intelligence and beauty of my two older sisters, I didn't have the quietness and softness of my younger sister, and I wasn't the only boy in the family like my younger brother. I was stubborn and suspicious, and was really the redundant one in the family.

But I wanted my mother to love me.

She said to me.

"You are my favorite, most beloved baby."

However, my mother has always been a silent woman. For as long as I can remember, I was always at my grandmother's side, and my mother never seemed to hug me. She always had my sister or brother in her arms, smiling at me from afar, and I never seemed to be able to get close to her.

When I grew up, sometimes I felt reluctant to do so, and sometimes I would petulantly stay by her side, hoping she would turn around and give me a hug or a kiss. However, no matter how much I would wind her up, hint at her, or even beg her playfully, my mother never gave me any warm response, she would always say.

"Stop it! You're so old, you're not afraid that people will see and laugh at you!"

I left her quietly each time, quietly retreating to my own corner, there was always a familiar feeling of unease and resentment in my heart that would not go away for a long time.

It lasted until I had a child of my own.

During the first few months of life, I lived with my mother and learned how to care for a small baby. One day, my mother put a floppy hat on my child to protect her from the wind, and the pink brim was decorated with tiny flowers, making her face look like a fragrant rose.

"Rong Rong, come and see, this little one is exactly the same as you were when you were a child!"

After saying that, she took my child, my fragrant and soft baby into her arms and kissed it fiercely several times.

I was standing in the doorway of the room, and my heart felt like it had been hit hard, and for a moment, I was sad and happy.

The thing that I had longed for, the thing that I had been asking for but had not been able to satisfy, my mother had given me at the very beginning!

But why did it take so many years to let me know and understand?

Why did it have to be arranged like this?

When I was packing up my desk or my trunk, Cecile liked to stand and watch, because sometimes some objects she liked would come out, and if she begged softly, I would give them to her. Sometimes it's a Spanish fan, sometimes it's a beautiful notebook, sometimes it's a string of glass beads, and when she gets it, she's always overjoyed, like a treasure.

This day, she came to see me again. I was sorting through the old albums, and she picked up an enlarged photo and asked me.

"Who's this?"

"This is mom! It's a picture of me when I won first place in a dance competition in Europe!"

"Nonsense! How can it be you? How can you dance with ribbons?"

The dancer in the photo was gracefully waving two long ribbons, standing in the middle of the stage, her face with three parts of shyness and seven parts of pride after makeup.

"It's me! At that time, I had just arrived in Belgium not long ago to participate in the international student dance competition held by KU Leuven, I was the main character, and there were eight other female students dancing with me, and we ......"

Before she finished speaking, her classmates came whizzing by on their bicycles outside the window, calling her name loudly, and her daughter leapt up and answered loudly to the window.

"Coming! Coming!"

Then she turned back to me and waved her hand, and ran out happily. I went to the door and saw the backs of a group of girls, just middle school students, but all of them tall and big, riding their cars fast.

I still had the photo in my hand, but I had a lot to tell my daughter. I wanted to tell her how seriously we rehearsed again and again, how we took pictures of each other during the performance, how the boys cooked snacks for us and took pictures of us when they knew we had won first place: it was just a small school event, but because we used the names of Chinese students and won first place among more than twenty countries, it brought this group of Chinese students together! I had a very happy night.

I would love to tell my daughter about these happy memories, but I didn't get the chance. At the dinner table, she was the one talking excitedly and enthusiastically, and she and her classmates had so many interesting and important things to say to each other that I couldn't get in the way.

Throughout the evening, I could only smile at her from afar.

After giving me a detailed analysis of my condition, the doctor suddenly said to me in a particularly gentle tone.

"In any case, it is absolutely impossible for you to get the old mother back."

The doctor was probably over sixty years old, well-dressed, with a gentle air and a wisdom and insight characteristic of older people. After he said this, there was a very short pause, as if he knew that by this time I should have started to weep.

But I didn't fall for it, I just wouldn't fall for it, and I didn't let a single tear show.

I am not going to be easily fooled.

In this world, there are some things you can believe, and some things you absolutely cannot believe.

Never shed a tear, a tear means that you believe his words, a tear means that you also follow to admit the truth can not be changed.

Although my mother had another stroke, who would dare to say that she could not recover this time, since she overcame the last fierce illness and was able to stand up again?

Who would dare to say to me that I could not be a strong and happy mother again as before?

I coldly bowed to the doctor and thanked him, then returned to my mother's bed. My mother is in a period of sleepiness after a stroke, and she should slowly get better in a few days. After she gets a little better, she can start doing recovery exercises, and as long as she keeps her confidence, she should have no problems. My father and sisters have called long distance and said they would come back to be with her as soon as possible. I think this doctor didn't know my mother well and didn't know her strength and perseverance, which is why he came to such a wrong conclusion about me.

At night, I left the hospital and drove home alone, still thinking about what the doctor had said during the day, when suddenly something flashed through my mind and I was stunned by the sudden thought.

What the doctor said was not wrong!

The day by day, the old mother is changing day by day and never coming back!

Which one is the mother I used to have?

Was it the old lady with a cane in her left hand and a full head of white hair in the countryside of Shimen before the second stroke? Or was it the woman in the Christmas party with her son-in-law in Europe, before the first stroke, who was dressed in a gorgeous dress? Or a little earlier, the mother standing with her children on the grass in front of their home in New Beitou, still smiling delicately? Or the young woman in the photo studio in Nanjing, holding her newborn child in her arms, looking at the camera and smiling, surrounded by her husband and children? Or was it the woman in the hills of the Chongqing countryside, hastily hiding from the enemy's air raids while worrying not to frighten the children around her and not to crush the fetus in her womb?

Or was it the young girl with dark and bright eyes standing in a yellowed old photo, wearing a leather black tweed coat, in a snowy courtyard in Beiping?

Or was it the little girl of about ten years old who loved to collect round stones from the riverbed and go home to play in the grasslands of Inner Mongolia, which I had only heard of inadvertently?

The mother of the past, the mother of the past, the days just passed by day by day, for the sake of us five children, the mother of the past was left behind day by day, and never came back!

The current mom is certainly recoverable again, however, it is definitely no longer the same mom I used to have.

"Mom, mom."

In the late night on the highway, I gently called out to my mother who smiled gently at me during those passing years, my former all those who could not come back again, and could not help but cry out alone.

The car was driving fast, the road was so dark and dark!