Mothers are also vulnerable

When I was a child, my mother always scolded me for being like a piece of wood because I was not very articulate growing up. When she lectured me, I always confronted her with a vicious expression, while my brother and sister, both of whom were articulate. As a result, of the 3 children, I always felt that she disliked me the most.

　　My mother was an extremely respectful woman who was very strict in everything. She also liked to demand that we behave the way she did, but I was nothing like her. I grew up silly, I didn't know anything to fight, I interacted with people, I always suffered losses and didn't feel it, I was spontaneous and scatterbrained in my bones, so I was often scolded by her. When she hated me, she would say that if I were a tile pot, I would have been broken hundreds of times by her.

　　In this family, I was always at the bottom of the list; in my parent's hearts, I was always the worst child, which made me feel especially sad. I hated my mother for comparing me to my sister, and I resented her for using the best neighborhood kids as examples. I used to hate her, wanted to avoid her, and even ran away from home. When I was eighteen or nineteen, I thought I wouldn't be upset if she died someday.

　　As an adult, I bought clothes, few of which my mother could look at, she always said I would only buy things that "pigs do not eat and dogs do not smell". In her eyes, I was still a worthless person, and even if I occasionally did something to make her happy, she was only happy in her heart, but rarely praised me on her lips.

　　So, for more than thirty years, our mother-daughter pattern of living together was that she was often angry and I was often bitter. I could understand her anger, but she never knew my pain. I think: she should have always thought that I was a heartless child. I'm not. I look like a big guy, but inside I'm very sensitive.

　　Whenever I wanted to use my mind to influence my son, I suddenly thought of my mother's cross-hairs when I was a child, and I began to convince myself that I would be gentle with my son. But no matter how much restraint, there will be situations when I lose control, and I will be sad after I lose control. This time, I would think, every time my mother scolded me, my heart would also hurt, right? The hatred and resentment towards her slowly grew fainter and fainter. I began to go back to my mother's house every three days to see her, I seem to be used to her disciplining me, however, she scolded me but scolded me less and less, and in turn, I began to count her often. I blame her for just saving money, for worrying too much, for not knowing how to take care of herself, and for ...... and she would only listen quietly, smiling slightly, never defying me with a vicious expression. She is somewhat old, and I still wishfully believe that she will always be a strong mother.

　　Suddenly, one day, my sister called me and told me that my mother was ill and that cancer was suspected. I couldn't speak at once and stood in the street in tears. From that day on, I couldn't sleep all night long, and I would stand in front of the counter at the supermarket and stare in disbelief. I used to ask my mother to help me move the buttons inward every time I bought pants because of my thin waist, and she scolded me for not being able to do needlework even though I was so old. After she got sick, once I bought a needle and thread box home and nailed the buttons myself, I realized how happy I was whenever I sat across from my mother and watched her help me modify my clothes. I choked back a sob at the buttons I had pinned, and it turned out that it wasn't that I couldn't pin the buttons, but that I coveted my mother's care.

　　The night before my mother's surgery, I couldn't sleep and got up in the middle of the night to run in the neighborhood. I ran and thought, if I could switch her illness to me, I would be able to sleep, but then I thought, so she wouldn't be able to sleep. It was a sleepless night. At 5 a.m., I went over to be with her for the surgery. When she was in the operating room, the three of us cried like children, and we couldn't even swallow water. Looking at the unconscious woman with so many tubes in her body, I hid and cried again, but the doctor and the head nurse comforted me and said, "It's okay, it's okay. I said, "I know, but when I saw my mom like that, I just couldn't stop."

　　The good thing is that the operation went very well; the good thing is that she recovered well after the operation; the good thing is that we, as a family, can still be complete. Because I now know that mothers are fragile, too.