[BLOG] What I Love About You, Mom

What I Love About You, Mom

I had never understood the pain that a mother felt until that day when my mother took me, her beloved son to the psych ward. At first, I was upset with her. I mean like seriously, how many have ever decided to take their sons to weird hospitals let alone mothers! As I sat in the back seat, I could hear her crying but her tears would not move me in any way. I gave her a look that was filled with hate and every time that she spoke to me, I turned away and said ‘whatever.’ What I didn't fail to notice were the color of her eyes. She must have spent the previous night crying because she knew that this was something she had to do. I could even tell that she must have been praying for me for the past few days by the soarness of her voice. We were two people in the same car; one who still loved the other and was willing to do anything to help and one who felt nothing but distaste and hatred. I don't even know where it came from.

As she was driving, I could feel that there was something wrong but with my pride filled I would not look at her long, but I did realize that her hands were shaking. Tears were still flowing down her cheek and some drivers stared at her but she did not mind. All she wanted to do was to save her son in any way possible. After what seemed to me like an hour of pointless driving, we arrived at the hospital. I got out of the car and reluctantly followed my mother.

My mother turned back and I could see the despair in her eyes and for a moment, I felt sorry for her. You see it was actually my fault that I had allowed our relationship to become so strained and almost impossible to see eye to eye but then I got my footing back and continued as before. We were soon directed to an office and I was asked to wait outside. As soon as my mother was in the office she burst into tears telling the psychiatrist how much she loved me. She had tried everything to get me to stop using drugs, but all had failed. It felt almost as if she wished death upon herself, because maybe that could make me love her in the way children love their mothers. And at the same time make me understand that addiction diminish love. As she continued sobbing, she narrated to the psychiatrist of how she had refrained herself into not following the advice that her friends had given her about cutting me off.

As I sat there, her words pierced my heart. Here I was, giving my mother a hard time and having immense hatred for her and yet she had done everything to keep me safe and still managed to show me love despite the fact that I had made her life impossible. How many mothers can still be able to stand with their sons after the things that I had done? How many mothers would still love them? It was then that I decided that it would be better for me even if it meant staying in the psychiatric hospital for a while. I will be better for her. I will make her proud of me.

When my mother stepped out of the office, I hugged her and told her I loved her and that I would return home soon once my treatment was over. My mom was perplexed and she stared at me. You see, the last time that I told her that I loved her was when I was five years old and now, I was 23. As I was whisked away to my new room, I turned to look at my mother and bid her goodbye and there she was running to embrace me one last time before I began a new life.

“Thank you, son. I love you.”

“I love you too mother. "

With that, I was taken to my room and my mother stood there as if she had lost the most precious thing to her. She called every day to encouraged me. Now with my treatment complete, I cannot help but wonder what life would have been without mother.

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