As we grow older, the roles between parent and child often reverse. My mother, now aged and longing for companionship, frequently calls me with the same eager question: “When are you coming home?” Because of the thousand-mile distance and the demands of work and family, I find it increasingly difficult to make the journey. Each time I explain, her hearing fails her, and she asks again with the same hopeful tone.
The guilt of distance
After several such exchanges, my patience wore thin, and I snapped at her over the phone. She finally understood and hung up quietly. Yet a few days later, she would call again, her voice now timid, still asking the same question. Her persistence softened my heart, and I hesitated before responding.
Sensing my change in tone, she brightened up and began to describe the blooming pomegranates and ripening watermelons in our backyard, urging me to visit. I hesitated, citing my busy schedule. In a moment of desperation, she jokingly suggested I tell my boss she had cancer and only six months to live. I scolded her for such talk, but it reminded me of my childhood antics when I’d feign illness to skip school, only to be caught and scolded by her.
Promises and broken plans
This back-and-forth continued until I promised to visit next month. Her joy was palpable, but life got in the way, and I couldn’t make the trip. When I called to apologize, her voice was weary, but understanding: “I know you’re busy,” she said. Yet, her calls became more frequent, urging me to come home for the grapes and pears she had grown.
I dismissed her, saying I could buy them anywhere, but she was unimpressed. I quickly added that nothing could compare to her homegrown produce, and she laughed proudly. One sweltering Saturday, as I ventured out for ice cream, I unexpectedly saw her carrying a heavy basket and bag in the street. She had traveled to see me, bringing the fruits she had lovingly picked.
A mother’s journey
My mother, who had never traveled far, endured the long, uncomfortable bus ride to bring me a taste of home. Her hands were worn, bandaged, and bruised, yet she beamed as she offered me the fruits. I couldn’t fathom the journey she undertook, but I realized that where there’s a mother, there’s a miracle.
She stayed for only three days, worried about being a burden. She quietly booked her return ticket and left without a fuss. A week later, she called again, saying she missed me. I laughed: “Mom, please be patient!” The next day, my aunt called with news that my mother was ill. Panicked, I rushed home, praying it was another of her tricks to see me.
A bittersweet reunion
When I arrived, she greeted me with a smile, and I scolded her for worrying me. She was just happy to see me. We spent time together, and I playfully criticized her cooking, knowing she would insist I eat more if I praised it. It was our little game, and I cherished it.
I asked why she wouldn’t live with me in the city, but she said she couldn’t adjust to city life. Soon, I had to leave again, and she pleaded for me to stay one more day, promising a special meal. She had gone to great lengths to prepare it, but when it was served, it was clear her eyesight had failed her. The dishes were inedible, but her effort touched me deeply.
The final goodbye
As I left, she walked me to the bus, holding my arm and reminding me to be careful. As the bus pulled away, she chased after it, shouting her love and understanding. Her calls became less frequent, filled with happy stories about home. At the end of the year, my aunt called again, saying my mother was ill. As we had just spoken, I didn’t believe it, but I returned home with her favorite treats.
When I arrived, she wasn’t there to greet me. My aunt told me she had passed away peacefully, having been diagnosed with cancer months earlier. She had kept it a secret, arranging everything herself. I realized then that her calls were her way of cherishing her remaining time with me.
A mother’s eternal love
In her final days, she shared stories of the flowers and the garden, leaving behind a legacy of love and warmth. I now understand that a mother never stops waiting for her child, no matter how long it takes. Her love is the constant in a world of change, and I had taken it for granted.
Mother, you are the one who never got angry with me, the one who always waited. I let you wait too long, but your love remains with me forever.
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