Sheets

Behind her unseen and untold... (a narrative story)

A/N: This one's a very old piece of  my "junks" as I've called them during my college years. I'm amazed how I've come up with this. Impressive! (At least for me ;)) 

 

Real Story

Almost breathless and sweating all over because of running from Princess’ house to ours to ask my mother if she’ll allow me to take the free trip to (insert place here) one Sunday afternoon.

“No, it’s late and I’m sure you won’t have anyone to be with at the dorm when you get there” She answered.

I did not reply her anymore. I just walked back slowly to Princess’ house while having a smile on my face.

My heart magically heard her say:

“Don’t leave yet my dear; wouldn’t it be great if you spend more time with us this evening? Please stay baby because even now, I’m already missing you”

 I then remembered my father’s story about my babyhood...

Friday, the **th day of November, year 199*, I finally completed the six children of the family. I came out of my mother’s womb almost dead. I had Asthma! I was born at home but immediately rushed to the nearest hospital.

 I was very hopeless. I completed a year spending not even a day at home, but months at the hospital bed which was too big for my soft delicate body.

The night before my birthday was the worst. My father had the thought that I might die the next morning which was my first birthday because improvement wasn’t evident and the killer asthma attacked me so fatally.

The doctor gave up on me that night. He handed me to another doctor: Ms. Estella, that’s how I remember her name. She was an angel. I started responding to medications and recovered gradually.

I spent and celebrated my first birthday there at the huge hospital bed, with oxygen hose on my itchy nose and needles pierced into my little hands.

I wonder how my mother has been able to contain all the pains that I had every time the nurse come to inject medicines on me, when she heard those loud cries from me.

Others could imagine her like Mary, the mother of Jesus; crying into her knees while watching her very son being whipped, stripped, and with blood all over his wounded body.

But I think my mother wasn’t like that. She’s strong and not showy. There is this both scientific and magical belief that a baby, even not inside the mother’s womb anymore, is still somewhat connected to her. That is why a newborn baby is put over the mother’s chest just after birth. Their hearts are connected, what the mother feels, the baby feels and vice versa.

My mother kept her heart and emotions very strong that I may become strong also. She did not cry over me. She just fought and fought and she succeeded. Her sleepless nights and weary days have resulted into victorious present days.

She pretends to be smiling sometimes to keep her sorrows. Shouted on me to hear her whispers of care and uttered disguised words instead of directly telling her love.

Over the years, I have learned to be sensitive enough to understand what she feels and thinks. I learned to heed her unspoken words, uncensored touch and unreached hugs and kisses.

She is not like other typical mothers who say “I love you” every now and then. She’s totally different and unique.

I know so much that I am now an expert over her emotions just as she is to me. It took me 18 years to see things as she does.

 Now she’s old, with rough palms, wrinkled face and gray hair.

“I am for her and she is for me” I uttered to myself  unaware that Princess was already in front of me, smiling.

 “My most mother doesn’t allow me to come “ I said.