A mother’s love
I was sitting at the window seat watching the sun gracefully set in a distant. The sky appears to be beautifully painted in dark orange and yellow.
“You know Margret she loves you. Her way of expressing love is just odd, ” softly uttered my grandmother.
“But what is love if not expressed. We say the word love grandmother, we let you our actions speak on our behalf, ” I replied amid sobs.
“You are still very young to understand a mother’s love; maybe one day, you will be old enough to get your mother’s action. Mother’s love is like a nut. Tough and rough in the outside but tender and sweet inside, ” my grandmother replied.
At this point, words cannot come out of my mouth. For a minute, I am rendered speechless. I turn to face the empty fields outside while listening to the bus engine.
“It’s going to be along ride,” I thought to myself.
New York City was a few miles away.
“Tomorrow I will be in the city that will make all my dreams come true,” I told myself.
I can’t believe that it was only yesterday when my mum watched my stepfather drag me by my hair across the floor as a form of punishment. What type of mother would sit back and watch her flesh and blood get treated with disrespect?
I begin to notice a mountain from far beyond.
“Margret, time is the best healer. I also moved on and was able to forgive my parents for all the wrong they did to me. Back then during 1950…” I couldn’t let her finish, I interrupted.
“As you said, grandma, time is the best healer. Let me take all the time I will need and heal in peace, ” I quickly replied.
The rest of our journey was in silence. From my grandmother’s words, I decided to let go and give my wound time to heal.