Growing Up

Strangely enough, some of my fondest memories of my mom when I was growing up are when I was most miserable. For it was in those times of great physical discomfort that my mom’s, well, motherliness, really shone. She was the one who stayed home with me when I was sick, made me soft and warm food whenever my braces got tightened, and even cleaned off my grandfather’s linoleum floor in Taiwan when I threw up all over it after one disastrous night of food poisoning.

And so I could not help but think of my mom this past weekend, when I was gutting through an unshakeable headache and general offness. Easily called up in my mind were similar times from my childhood in which my mom took care of me, which I remembered with melancholy and gratitude: sad I couldn’t be a little kid anymore, and grateful to be so fortunate when I was one. Thanks, Mom, for being there with me when I wasn’t feeling well, and I look forward to seeing you again soon so I can be there with you.
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