In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Forgive and Forget?.”
It was always my mother who hurt me.
“Your sister is cuter, of course.”
“You got only 90% at the exam? Ha!”
When I got 100% and handed it to her, she just glanced it without saying anything.
When the doctor warned me of the possibility that my upcoming baby was too small and I was really worried about it, she asked me how much the baby was estimated to weigh and said “Oh, that’s bad. It’s too small.”
When I was taking chemo 5 years ago, “Everyone can see that’s a wig.” “You look vicious without your eyebrows and eyelashes.”
When I threw my anger to her finally in my 30s, “I didn’t know that you kept holding such grudges. But all of them was your fault. I didn’t mean to hurt you at all. You should accept others’ ways of thinking.”
I had been thinking I would never forgive her.
However. You never know what is going to happen. This world is full of wonder.
One day when she turned 70, suddenly, I realized she was not an evil mother but just an old woman who needed someone’s help. Someone should help this old woman standing and smiling in front of me.
“This is unfair! I have the right to blame her. She deserves being blamed for the rest of her life!” My heart screamed.
Yet I had to admit that a part of me already forgave her. She became old. She looked small and fragile. The person who I’d hated for a long time didn’t exist any more.
Now I visit her once a month and we enjoy chatting. She is polite to me now because she looks forward to seeing me.
This evening, she called me to say “thank you” for the flowers I sent as a Mother’s Day’s gift.