Mother

Mother

         I can still remember my days in primary school. It was a torture, a pain for me to come face to face with all the people I met there. I had no real friends, no real companions. All because of one thing: my mother had only one eye. And they all laughed about it, laughed it in my face.

         Walking down the neighbourhood was no less of an agony: no one could understand my anguish when they pointed out their fingers at us as she walked me to school, and remarked about her. Each day found me thinking of reasons to not go out with her, to not see, or rather to not let others see me with her. Secretly, I hated them all. I hated them for being normal, for having what I didn’t: a mother with two eyes.

         But all these hatred were nothing compared to what I felt towards the woman who gave birth to me. Yes, I hated my mother the most, hated like an enemy. Why couldn’t she be perfect, like the others? And if she couldn’t have, why did she not just kill me after I was born? At least I wouldn’t have had to go through the anguish of having her as my mother. At times, I found myself secretly wishing for her to die.

         Of course, she didn’t know all that. To her, I was her sunshine, and she never realized that I had been trying to avoid her all my life.

         Things changed for the better when I went to secondary school. At least they did until my mother decided to work in the canteen in my new school. She said she wanted to be close to me in my new school, so that I wouldn’t feel lonely. She didn’t realize that her coming did make me lonely; everyone realized she was my mother, and the laughter and insults were back in my life again.

         But that wasn’t the end of it. No, after that, she decided to make me as miserable as I could possibly be: she would travel with me to school, and back, everyday; go to every party I went, even showering me with her so-called ‘motherly love’ in the public when I least expected it. It always insulted me, especially so when I realized others were smirking at me. And I hated my mother all the more for that.

         Perhaps if I had a father, he could’ve helped. But I didn’t. And I never bothered to ask that woman why. I always suspected he left her after she became ugly. I would understand him, would’ve done the same thing, too.

         Then I grew up. Old enough to go to a university, old enough to be away from that woman whom I had to call my mother. And I did. She cried when I told her, made a huge show of it, but in the end, I had my way. And I left her.

         I went to the other end of the country, studied there, and soon found Sara, my life partner. We got married, settled near where we first met, and soon had little babies of our own. We were so happy together, we were almost perfect. And our ten years together was the happiest of my life.

         Then one day, there was a knock on the door. I was in the kitchen, so Sara answered it. After a while, she came back to me, and whispered that a woman was at the door. A woman with one eye. Dread filled me again, and I wondered what she was doing there, why she had come back in my life.

         Then I heard one of my boys talking to her. “Who are you?” he asked in his little angelic voice. “And why do you have only one eye?”

         “I am your grandmother,” my mother’s voice replied. “Hasn’t your father ever told you about me?”

         That was it. I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I stormed out of the kitchen, and confronted her. “WHO ARE YOU? WHAT DO YOU WANT?” I shouted. “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

         My mother was stunned. She looked at me for a time, and soon tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry, Sir,” she said. “I thought that my son lived here. I see that I am mistaken.” And with that, she turned around and went away.

         I felt weird then, but I didn’t care. I was glad to finally have my mother out of my life.

* * * * *

         Two years later I received a letter from the principal of my old primary school. He said that he was organizing a party on the school’s behalf for all its former students, and that he wanted to invite me.

         The following week, I left home for my primary school. As I approached my old neighbourhood, a strange sense of nostalgia began to fill me. Though they were miserable, the memories of my younger days came to me, and among them was the memory of my mother.

         I soon saw the old shabby house in which my mother and I had lived. It was more run down than was usual, and looked as if nobody had cared for it for quite some time. I wondered what my mother was doing then, and pondered whether I should go and see her. I decided against it.

         But as I approached the house, I felt something drawing me towards it. I couldn’t explain why, but I soon found myself looking through the windows into the living room. Everything was the same, like a picture straight out my memory.

         Then I felt a tap on my shoulder.

         I turned around and saw that it wasn’t my mother, as I had thought it would’ve been. Instead, it was a neighbour. He handed me a letter, and said, “Your mother handed this to me last week. She told me to give it to you when you arrive.”

         I took the letter and mumbled my thanks. As he walked away, I asked him, against my will, “Where is she?”

         He turned around and said “Who?”

         “She,” I waved the letter, “My mother. Couldn’t she have handed me the letter herself?”

         He looked at me confusedly, and soon pity filled his eyes. “No, she couldn’t. She died the following day after giving me that letter.”

         I was looking at the letter, and when I heard those words, I felt…stunned. And despite everything, I felt a strange sense of emptiness within me. Slowly, I opened the letter.

                   Dear son,

                   I always knew that one day you would remember your mother, and visit this old house that we once shared. You won’t believe how happy I feel to see you back here.

                   When you’re reading this, I will probably be dead. You never knew that I was suffering from cancer, did you? Remember that day when I visited you and your family? I was there to tell you about my cancer, but you didn’t want to speak to me. I felt bad, but I knew you weren’t like that. Perhaps you would feel bad, too, and come apologize to me one day.

                   Alas, that day would never come. But never mind that. The fact that you’re reading this letter is more than enough for me. Forgive this old lady if you find this letter too long, but as this might be the last time I am speaking to you…let me speak to you for all this years you have been away from me.

                   There’s something I would like to tell you, something that you might have forgotten. Perhaps that’s the reason for your shouting at me the other day. After all, it happened while you were very young.

                   When you were only two years old, we went to a picnic in the woods not very far away. On the way back, we met a horrible accident. You and I survived, but your father didn’t. But you were not unscathed. You had lost an eye in that accident.

                   Being your mother, I couldn’t bear seeing you like that. How could I see you ridiculed by all the other kids? Why should my son have only one eye when all the other kids have two? So I decided to give one of my eyes to you. I didn’t mind having only one eye; I would be seeing the world through you.

                   Dear son, after you left me alone for so long, I felt so lonely and sad, and each day I tried to find you, to speak to you. In a way, I felt…blind.

                   But it doesn’t matter now. I found you in the end. You were in good health, and most of all, you were happy. That is what I have always hoped for.

                   Give my love to your children, they are cute and adorable. And love your wife well; I am sure she’s the perfect one for you in the world. I am leaving you in the knowledge that you are a happy man, and because of that, I have no regrets. I only wish I had known your wife and children better.

                   Goodbye, my son. May God always be with you.

                   Your mother

         As I finished reading the letter, my eyes filled with tears. For the first time in my life, I realized how much my mother loved me. For the first time, I truly missed her. All my life my mother had been with me, and throughout all that time, I wanted her out of my life. But now that I want her to be with me, I realize that she was gone. Forever. And I will always hate myself for what I did, for what I have always felt towards her.