Reflection 2014: Mama's Motherhood

“Motherhood: All love begins and ends there.”

~ Robert Browning

Project: Live 

     It was one of the rarest days that I left the office while Mr. Sun was still up. I invited mama for a walk, and as disinclined as she was at first, she conscientiously obliged as if she had the need to fulfill her motherly role.

     Mama and I spontaneously drove our way to our favorite walking spot west of town on that Thursday afternoon. The briny whiff of the ocean breeze was so inviting and the sun not as scorching as with any other afternoons, perfect for long walks. Mama, who just had dinner at the time, waited patiently at a spot beside a tree on the rocky shore looking out for our car while I rounded the two kilometer track.

     The track was not as smooth already as it was years back. Most were dilapidated either at the center or its edges, with gravel sticking in the soles of my shoes as I walked past them. It could have been easier pacing fast strides on smoother pathways, however, I had no choice but to pass through it, careful not to slip as I was alone on track.

     I took a sigh of relief after passing through the gravelly quarter of the whole track. At that time I was looking at mama from a distance still standing at the rocky shore, feeling the cool breeze and taking deep breaths, still waiting more. 

     As like any of our life's journeys, she always stands still for us. She heavily carried us in her womb for nine months. She waited seventeen years to finish each of our school years, also had a few chances of proudly receiving medals with us onstage. She was always up all night waiting for me to arrive from San Nicolas, Ilocos Norteand late night works. She lets us experience everything from joys and pains, and on days when we feel under the weather, she never leaves us soaked in tears.

     While year by year her age deems her old, her patience also withers but never lost. When that time comes when we all would leave, she will always stand firm at a spot distant enough for us to reach her in times of need. We know that out of all the people that we meet on our life's track, she will always be one of the rarest few who will patiently wait at the finish line.

     I finally finished one round of the track. There she stood picking dead corals by the shore as I reached her. Feeling exhausted but willing to do another lap, she wilfully consented and said, "I will wait for you here."

     Isn't that last line the most relieving of all?