Superwoman

My mother was a Superwoman. She always saved me, but I couldn't save her.

     It was Autumn, the season of ending love, falling leaves and the slow but inevitable process of death. I could remember the times spent together, like a faded film in my mind. It was shocking to realise that somebody could be taken away from you in just that split second. I don't mean to express my self-pity, please stop me if I do. I told myself, I just wanted to share my memories of somebody I loved who left this place.

     When I was younger, my mother used to take me to the playground and set me on the swings. She would try to push up as high as she could while I tried to catch the golden rays of sunlight like nuggets of gold. Life was filled with smiles and laughter. It was filled with unadulterated joy and happiness. I still cherish those times, replaying them like a record stuck on a turntable, because they reminded me of what it was like to be happy.

     It all started when my father left us. Then we began the slow but never-ending downward spiral. My mother sought to be the breadwinner of our broken family. She began taking part-time jobs at diners and restaurants. But it was never enough to stop the never-ending bills and mortgage payment. So she turned towards a different kind of job. More "dirtier", but more pay. Her moral values were completely stripped throughout this trial.

     Then she contracted AIDS and we couldn't pay for anything anymore.

     She told her relatives that she was suffering from a brain tumor, to save herself from being disgraced. She wasn't ashamed, she just knew that they wouldn't understand. She told the doctors to do whatever they can to save her, for me. But their best was still never enough. She went through agonizing treatments and chemotherapy that made her lose all her beautiful silky locks of hair. She begun to come to terms with reality, that she would not be able to live through this to support me anymore. She began to make plans.

     She passed on a few years after she was diagnosed. I knew that she went through all of that for me. I just wish it would be easier to accept it and not hate her for it. But deep down I always know that my mother was a Superwoman, and that she always loved me no matter what.

Author's Note

It's difficult to write about a character without expressing self-pity. Ughh... the dramatic side of me keeps rebelling against this type of writing. Please help me!

Reviews

[Micco Gibson]

Wow, such a short story to demonstrate such feeling. It really shows the pain well, and the descriptions really help the reader see the story as a memory. Great write Aranee.

Um... Not sure here, but is "More 'dirtier'" a correct way to say it? I'm not sure how you could replace it at this moment in time though.

Anyway, what a heart felt piece.