My mother had a hard life. She was the fifth child in a brood of eight and when the war broke, she had to stop schooling to help take care of the three younger siblings while the rest of the family worked in the farm. Her father died shortly after the youngest sibling was born. She didn’t finish fourth grade but she was very smart. She could read, write and speak English. She taught us how to read and write at an early age that we could read by age of four.
I also remember walking long distances with her as she peddled bottled fish sauce that she bought from her hometown. People in the city loved that fish sauce and she carried them in a large bag as she walked from house to house and ride the bus if she knew of someone in another town who would buy it. I think that if she was given the chance, she would’ve been a very astute businesswoman. The problem was that while my father liked that her little earnings augmented the family income, he also didn’t like that she went to so many places, and sometimes he would arrive home before her. Thinking back, I’m pretty sure that my father was afraid of her succeeding in her endeavours, although he hid behind the “what would your family think, that I cannot support you?” thinking.
She had a stroke when she was only 37. She cried every day after that. You see, she was a very active person and she hated just staying in the house without doing anything. She was a clean freak. I used to hate Saturdays when she would do a general cleaning of the house and we all would have to pitch in, especially me. I mean Saturday mornings, all the children were playing, happy to be home from school, but me, I was washing the floors! After that, we would wash all the sheets and everyone’s clothes. Then cook. Years later, when I told her that I never had a childhood, she said at least I didn’t have to endure a war.
Giving credit where it’s due, my father had been very patient in taking care of her. As soon as he came home from work, he would give my mother’s paralyzed arm and leg a good massage. From reading books, he devised a thingamajig using ropes and pulleys that he suspended from overhead beams so that she could do some exercises whilst seated. He brilliantly fashioned an electric shaver in to a massager by covering it with a thick towel, so that the vibrations could work its way into her paralyzed muscles. In eight months she was able to walk on her own, albeit leaning on chairs and walls, dragging her leg. On Sundays he spent hours teaching her how to write with her left hand.
One night, a few weeks before she died, I woke up to a conversation they were having. My room was above theirs so I could hear them when they spoke normally. She had been depressed by her condition and a few times she had said she preferred dying than living like she was. I made out from his voice that he was crying and I heard him say, “Please don’t leave me, you’re all I have.” And it was like that the whole night, him pleading her not to leave him. When I couldn’t bear it anymore, I threw a book against the wall. That quickly quieted him down.
Your mother sounds like a remakable woman! It couldnt have been easy to overcome such adversity as her childhood provided. It is easy to see she instilled that sense of strength of character in you!
Such a sad story. She really had a hard life. I can't imagine living through a war, up close and personal instead of it being a continent away, like I am used to.
She was a beautiful woman and you look a lot like her. She was determined and had good common sense to replace her lack of formal education. She should be looked up to and honored. Thanks for sharing the story with us
Boy, she really did have a rough life!! It sure puts everything in perspective, doesn't it?! You are an amazing storyteller, and you have such amazing stories to tell!
I think often how strnge it is that so e people have lives like that, just everything is that much harder for them than it has ever been for me, and I wonder why I am so blessed. My Dad's Biggest sister, the eldest of 12, had two of her own babies and a third on the way when her Mom died. My Dad was 7 and she raised him and the other little-ins along with her three. No questions asked, just picking up th load where it had been dropped and making it her own
Wow, so moving; himself's father had a stroke at 38, took all his left side and speech. He another one at 40 which was fatal. Himself is the oldest living male in his line, I make sure he takes the tablets! Hugs sweetie
