"C’mon, let’s go to bed. Let mom tell you a story, I am sure you will easily fall into sleep," mom said to me joyfully.
Last night was a memorable evening–I listened to mom’s story and chatted with her before I fell into sleep. It’s a rare occasion for a grown-up to sleep with her mom, and it’s even rarer that a grown-up can listen to her mom’s story to sleep. I relived the sweet childhood experience with mom last night. But this time, I listened to the story with a heavy heart…
After the light went off, the room was dark. I stretched out my hand in bed to search mom’s body. She is indeed too small to notice. Her bony figure saddened me. Instead mom holding me in her arm as when I was a little girl, I held mom close to myself. As she told me the lovely story about a little lamb and a little rabbit, my tears couldn’t help falling in silence. Fortunately, mom didn’t notice it in the darkness. She talked, I listened. She complained, I consoled. I knew telling stories was how mom soothed me to sleep when I was little. But this time the storyline was no more important to me. Instead, the feeling and the moment I had together with mom was precious. Mom told me at times she wished her mother would be around, so she could turn to her for comfort and advice on life. I told myself, I would soon have the same desire for having a mother by my side.
Mom, my dearest mom, last night I had the sweetest and the most secure sleep with you. My prayer for you will never cease, and my love for you will last forever. God bless mom, Amen!