The oldest memories of my mom that I had was when I was four… she in her tight jeans and blouse tied in a knot around her waist riding a bike with me in the front carriage, swooping through the winds and I remember feeling awesome! It was like I was in a speeding motorcycle racing though the high ways with wonder woman.
Then as I got older, my thoughts of her were those days when she would sew my play clothes and I’d be wearing new shorts and spaghetti-strapped blouses made from those cheese cloth sacks recycled from chicken feed bags.
But my thoughts of how I remembered my mom wasn’t always happy. There were those days when I felt she never understood. Days when my nose would bleed from too much blowing because I had been crying for hours in a corner of my house or under my bed.
These memories even became more and more sad as I learned to love someone else outside my family. When I had my suitors and would be boyfriends. In those days, all I could think about was how my mom didn’t care how I felt and how I thought she didn’t love me.
Ah yes, those were the dark and troubled days between me and my mom. I felt like I was being taken for granted or being persecuted. I felt like I cannot tell her anything anymore and that the first thing I would do is ran away after I got married. But that didn’t happen. I got married even before I graduated and that would surely have disappointed my mom. But didn’t get to move out the house for they insisted that we stay.
Two years after, feeling stronger and more able, we decided it was time to fly the coop. But that plan instead of being a happy and proud occassion was turned into such drama and heartache. We were forced to leave the house in such tear-stricken state that if not for the intervention of my god parents, we would probably have been alienated for life.
But all that being said, I love my mom, because my mom thought me to love my husband as if he were the only man in the world. Love my kids in a way that would teach them how to be strong.
But I guess by being like my mom, my kids will hate me just as I felt hate and hurt for my mom before. I just hope that the day will come that my kids will see that what I am doing for them right now, they may not like. I just hope that in the end they will see how much I love them and how much I am proud of them.
Mom, I love you!