A Short Story : My Mother's Story

My mother was out of town, so I knew it was not her. I grew afraid of the strange woman in my house, the maroon-colored walls in my bedroom was giving me an ominous feeling, making my room look stained with blood. I went quietly out of my door and down the hallway, knowing that they were arguing in the kitchen by the volume of their voices. I paused in the middle of the hall, unsure whether to continue or to go back to my bedroom. I only decided on the former after I heard a muffled shout and the woman’s voice laughing. This decision was the biggest mistake of my life.

I slowly walked into the dark and daunting room. She has beckoned for me once again. She always has and she always will, no matter how many years we spend apart. She was like a drug to me. I hated the addiction but would easily fall back into the habit as soon as she would offer herself to me.

Never will I forget the sensation of awe, horror, and admiration with which I gazed about me when mum finally told me the truth. She says dad was murdered when I was an infant in mum 's belly, that’s why Carrie was in the closet. Carrie was the murderer of our Father. She’s evil and I didn’t know. This deeply unsettling truth has caused me to be terrified. My closest friend is now my “sibling” and biggest enemy. The reason I know of no father figure.

A cool spring morning in Chicago a little boy was born the fourth son to a woman, Jane, who

All my life I’ve seen my mom work hard, struggling to pay bills and raise three sons alone. Day in and day out she’ll work and when she returns home, she tells me not to end up like her. In recent years she’s developed some health issues from working so much and continues to work because there’s really no other option. A number of times she’s told me that she regrets never finishing school and tells me it’s something I have to do. Even without her telling me to I knew just from looking at her that it was something I had to do to prevent her hard work from going to waste.

I am in my room third floor of my building. I sit on my bed and reflect the incidents that transpired months before; however, the emotional scars still wrap around my body like tape squeezing harder and harder. I sit for what seems like hours, however, when I check my alarm clock, only four minutes seem to pass by. This has been recurring recently, I can't help but feel trapped in my mind like i'm my own puppet. I am abruptly jolted by the knock that lands on my door, I hear a woman's voice call out “Mrs. Rodgers?” A shiver goes through my spine a name I left that has come back to haunt me. I get out of my room to investigate, I am greeted by an older woman at my door. As I get closer I realize she is actually quite young but she has bags under her eyes. She looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks.

“I’ll be right over.” My mom’s voice wavered as she spoke these words. She hung up the phone. When she turned our way I saw concern written all over her face and worry. She walked over to my father. His brow was creased as if to say, “What’s going on?” After a hurried whispered conversation she left. Right away I could tell something was wrong.

As we were all gathered around at my mother’s birthday, her sisters brought up the funny memories that happened along the way traveling to Bakersfield. None of my cousins or I knew the real story or reason on why we were sitting around waiting for cake in over one hundred degree weather, and we were all very curious. However even though we did not know the story about their migration or how it happened, we were all very grateful for the sacrifices and harsh decisions my family must have made in search for a better life.

My smile quickly faded; I did not understand that she was joking. I was angry, and stomped to my room. Lying in bed, I started to think, How can she make me do all that? She’s a monster, I can’t be her son. Then, as if a lightbulb went off in my head, I realized that she was not really my mother.

Any women can be a mother but it takes someone special to be a mother. Having someone in your life who means so much to you is a blessing. My Mom, Fatima was born on June 4, 1973. Moving to her appearance, I could say that the way she acts says a lot about her personality. She is the kind of person that is interesting to listen. Every time I listen to her, I learn something new. The moment she had me in her life was also a blessing for her. Im her third daughter. She is someone who cheers me up while I’m feeling sad. Without her, I wouldn’t be who I am today. Her smile is the only thing that will make me happy throughout the day. Her guiding hand on my shoulder will remain forever. Ever since her childhood, my mom was taught that

I swallowed down anything that could make me miss this moment. “ You know why. “ I said again, but this time with more confidence. Waiting for the women’s face to scrunch with anger, instead, her expression almost made me choke. Her fiery demon eyes were quickly doused in water. The brick wall like person I was just talking to swiftly changed into my mother. The woman I haven't seen in forever was all of a sudden right in front of me. “ Jake, “ she spoke softly, “ I don't know what happened that night. “ her lip began to quiver and her eyes were glued to mine. Is this women in front of me a criminal or my mother? “ I don't even remember killing him…” her voice began to be covered by sobs, “ I loved Liam and, “ she choked, “ William. “. She put her head into her hands and sobbed. I don't even know what to do. A answer that deserves salvation...and she doesn't know? “ How do you

Moms are the most special and pure beings in the world. They are that being who gives everything for love, for her home, for her children and grandchildren. The mother is such a blessed woman that she endures so many things for the sake of her children, while many times we are ungrateful to them, assuming that our mothers will always be there for us.

I awoke the next day to my younger brother telling me my mom wanted me. I didn’t question why my mom wanted me, I just began grabbing some clothes to throw on and race up the stairs. I slowly approach the stairs to my parents’ bedroom where I begin to ponder why she wanted me. I turn the corner to see my mom doing her hair. She looked at me through the mirror and she said “So Dante here’s a funny story your dad just told me…” I began to question why she wanted to tell me about a story my dad told her but I continue to listen. She continues by saying “He drove to Tim Horton’s for breakfast today!” then it hit me “I was busted!!” She finished the story and then asked why Dante would you do that and she began tell me all this stuff, but for some reason I couldn’t hear it. All I could hear was my thoughts of how I messed up big time, how I was going to lose my job, how I disappointed my parents, and most importantly how I screwed up my life.

I want to talk about my story that I have not done to anyone yet through this paper. I started growing in my mother’s womb one day in 1994. My mother suffered from morning sickness and anemia when she conceived me. The summer of 1994 was the hottest year since my hometown, Korea's meteorological observations. A lot of people who have a cold towel in the house without air conditioner and overcome the heat. My mother also thought that I would like to wipe away the pouring sweat and wanted to winter. I do not know how hot it was that summer, but I guess how my mother would have suffered. So, I always have the gratitude and respect for my mother.

I had been in the car with my dad, and was about to turn on some music on his phone when I accidentally opened the phone app. To my surprise I glanced my mother’s name among his recent calls.