Every morning (If I happen to wake up earlier than my mother) I pass by her room to get prepared for the day. In fact, I cross her doorway multiple times. However, it s customary for me to stop right in my tracks once during my trips, and fixate my yes on the lump covered by thick blanket on her queen sized bed. From a distance, I can’t ease my tensions, so I softly step towards her, and hover my head over her being to catch a good glimpse of her stomach. I sigh with relief, and leave her room when I’m done, saying to me, “She’s breathing...” I believe majority of children expect their parent to wake up every morning, but I worry about my mom’s chances of seeing me the next day, and the consequences that follow, even if it is such a common, and small occurrence.
It is pretty obvious as to why someone would want to see their mother the next day, everyone can relate to loving their mother somehow. And ironically, there is nothing wrong with my mother’s health that would sabotage her arrival every morning after slumber, so I feel sometimes as if my worries serve no reason. However, I can’t help but to imagine the same dreadful situation that happened to thousands of children in the world suddenly happening to me. Some of what contributes to my fear of that possible reality is fairly normal for a child to think of: I love my mom, I like being with her, and I need a ride to school everyday. But those aren’t the only things that I fear losing. No, there is much more at stake than that.
Another reason as to why something so common and so frequent would be of importance to me is that I’m scared I won’t be able to talk to her again, especially after we had had a squall the prior night. My mom and I are not the most compatible people in the world, and ever since my brother departed to college, the time we spend together has just sparked new animosity in our relationship. Moreover, our fights are not something either of us can overlook easily, for there is usually no certain winner, , and we often go into our separate rooms still frustrated with each other, and leave our argument unsolved.
Later in the night though, after I’ve cooled my temper, a rush of worry goes flowing through my veins. I am my mother’s last child, and she is my last mother, and to leave our relationship so chopped up would be ridiculous. I want to apologize to her. I want to let her know how much I love her, how much those fights don’t matter. But, I can not do that if I can not talk to her anymore, for stress can do a harsh number on people of her age. That is the origin of my stress throughout the remainder of the night, until I wake the next morning, and repeat my procedure again.
It might seem silly, but most of the time I do not even confess my apologies to her. Then why worry about if she wakes up or not? Why not just continuing assuming she will wake up? Well, because I’m not the best rationalist ever, and my ego steps in my path most of the time I wish to say sorry. Therefore, I’m overjoyed when I see that blanket slowly rise up and fall down in the beginning of the day. And, as we start the morning off together, and enter her van to drop me off at school together, I hope in the back in my mind that the new sun will refresh our relationship.