"LIES MY MOM TOLD ME"

"LIES MY MOM TOLD ME" (author unknown)

This story began when I was a child. I was born into a poor family that often didn’t have enough food to fill our hungry stomachs. During meal times, Mother would give me her portion of rice. As she transferred her rice into my bowl, she would always say, “Eat this rice, son. I’m not hungry.”

That was Mother’s First Lie.

As I grew up, my persevering mother spent her spare time fishing to provide me with nutrition. She would cook fresh fish soup for me, and while I ate, she would sit beside me, quietly picking at the remnants left on the fish bones I had finished. Feeling touched, I would offer her the other fish portion, but she always refused, saying, “Eat the fish, son. I don’t really like fish.”

That was Mother’s Second Lie.

When I was in junior high school, Mother took on extra work assembling used matchboxes to help fund my studies. One night, I woke up and saw her still working by candlelight. I said, “Mom, go to sleep. It’s late, and you have to work tomorrow.” She smiled and replied, “Go to sleep, dear. I’m not tired.”

That was Mother’s Third Lie.

The final term arrived, and Mother took leave from work to be with me. She patiently waited for hours in the heat while I finished my exam. When it ended, she welcomed me and poured a cup of tea from a flask. Seeing her covered in sweat, I offered her my cup, but she pushed it back and said, “Drink, son. I’m not thirsty!”

That was Mother’s Fourth Lie.

After my father died, my mother had to provide for us alone. Life became harder, more complicated, and we suffered daily. Despite our worsening situation, we were blessed with a kind old man who visited and helped us occasionally. Neighbours often advised my mom to remarry, but she refused, saying, “I don’t need love.”

That was Mother’s Fifth Lie.

After I finished my studies and got a job, it was time for my mom to retire. But she didn’t want to, she went to the marketplace every morning to sell vegetables to support herself. I worked in another city and often sent her money to help, but she wouldn’t accept it. Sometimes, she even sent the money back, saying, “I have enough money.”

That was Mother’s Sixth Lie.

With my Bachelor's Degree, I pursued a Master's funded by a company scholarship and got a job there. I planned to bring my mother to live with me so she could enjoy her life in the city, but she didn’t want to inconvenience me. She said, “I’m not used to that kind of life, son.”

That was Mother’s Seventh Lie.

In her later years, Mother became seriously ill and needed to be hospitalized. I travelled across the ocean to be by her side. She lay weak and exhausted on her bed after surgery, her frail appearance a stark reminder of the toll the illness had taken. Though she tried to smile warmly, it was clear it took considerable effort on her part. Seeing her like this broke my heart, and my tears flowed freely without me even realizing. Despite her own suffering, she gathered her remaining strength and said softly, “Don’t cry, my dear. I’m not in pain.”

That was Mother’s Eighth and Last Lie.

After uttering her final lie, my beloved mother closed her eyes forever, leaving behind a poignant silence that spoke louder than words ever could.

I realized that the greatest acts of love are often hidden behind simple, everyday sacrifices. Cherish the silent struggles of those who love us, for they reveal the depth of their devotion.

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"WHEN ALL IT TOOK" by Joanne Boyle

"WHEN ALL IT TOOK"
by Joanne Boyle

When all it takes is one person

to knock you off your feet.

Hang in there.

When all it took were the words

from someone down the street.

Hang in there.

When all it took was a memory,

when someone knocked you down.

Hang in there.

When all it took was a minute

to turn a smile into a frown.

Hang in there.

When all it took was a look

to make you feel so small.

Hang in there

When obstacles become deliberate

in the hope to see you fall.

Hang in there.

When love hearts turn to dust

and glitter disappears.

Hang in there.

When you wake up from a dream

with your pillow wet from tears.

Hang in there.

When you feel the hope you clung to

escaping from your mouth.

Hang in there.

When you can't find your direction

and run from North to South.

Hang in there.

When yesterday's sunshine

was clouded by the rain.

Hang in there.

For tomorrow is another day

to find yourself again.

Joanne Boyle ~ Heartfelt

Art ~ Steffi Krenzek

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"MY FATHER"

"MY FATHER"
(author unknown)

While standing in my bedroom doing my makeup, I overheard my parents in the bathroom across the hall. My father was groaning in severe pain, and thankfully, my mother was there to support him. At that time, I was in my twenties, caught up in my own world—juggling relationships with two men like a bouncing ball. But something about that moment between my parents hit me deeply.

My father groaned, and my mother gently reassured him, “It’s okay, Chris. I’m here.”

That was the beginning of my father’s painful side effects from prostate cancer, something that would only worsen with time. As I leaned toward the mirror to apply mascara, I heard more sounds of distress from my father. I froze, feeling trapped in their moment with nowhere to go. I heard a metallic clank in the bathroom—a mess had been made beyond my father’s control. My mother, without hesitation, would clean it up. “I’m so sorry,” my dad said.

“It’s okay, Chris. I’m here,” my mother replied once again.

After finishing my makeup, I sat on my bed with the door slightly ajar. Though I was worried about my father’s health, tears fell onto my jeans as I came to a profound realization—THIS is marriage.

Marriage isn’t found in lavish weddings, romantic dates, or cosy nights watching Netflix. It’s found in the darkest moments, when one partner supports the other through situations too difficult and vulnerable to share with anyone else.

As children, we grow up watching movies and reading stories about happy endings, perfect beginnings, and light-hearted moments in between. But real love—true romance—reveals itself when two people lean on each other, are completely vulnerable, and depend on each other through life’s hardest times.

Sitting on my bed, I made a decision. I no longer wanted to bounce from one relationship to another. I wanted my future to reflect what I had just witnessed: my parents' marriage—imperfect yet deeply beautiful. My own marriage, like theirs, has had its ups and downs, but the love I saw that day reminds me that marriage is forged in life’s toughest, most intimate spaces—even in the bathroom.

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"STELLA AND THE PILOT"

"STELLA AND THE PILOT"
(author unknown)

Stella had just settled into her business class seat when a man nearby caused a scene. “I don’t want to sit next to that... woman!” Franklin Delaney nearly shouted at the flight attendant, gesturing towards Stella, an older woman who had just taken the seat beside him.

“Sir, this is her assigned seat, and we cannot change that,” the stewardess replied, maintaining her composure as Franklin stared disapprovingly at Stella’s modest clothing.

“These seats are too expensive,” he said loudly, eyeing Stella. “She couldn’t possibly afford one!”

Though embarrassed, Stella remained quiet. She wore her best outfit, though simple, and it was all she could afford. Other passengers began watching, and some even seemed to agree with Franklin. The situation was becoming unbearable for Stella, so she finally spoke up.

“It’s alright,” she said gently, resting her hand on the stewardess’s arm. “If there’s a seat in economy, I’ll move. I saved everything for this ticket, but I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

At 85, Stella had never travelled before, and the airport experience at Seattle-Tacoma had been overwhelming. The airline had kindly assigned someone to guide her through the airport, and now she was finally on her way to New York.

Despite the tension, the stewardess was firm. “No, ma’am, you paid for this seat, and you deserve to stay here, no matter what anyone says,” she assured Stella. Turning to Franklin, she warned him that she would call airport security if he continued. Reluctantly, Franklin backed down, and Stella remained in her seat.

As the plane took off, Stella, overwhelmed by the experience, accidentally dropped her purse. To her surprise, Franklin bent down and helped her collect her belongings. As he handed her items back, he noticed a ruby locket and whistled softly.

“This is beautiful,” Franklin commented. “I’m an antique jeweller, and these rubies are genuine. This locket must be worth a lot.”

Stella smiled softly. “I wouldn’t know. My father gave it to my mother before he went off to war. She passed it to me after he never came home.”

Curious, Franklin introduced himself. “I’m Franklin Delaney, and I’m sorry for how I acted earlier. I’ve been going through some things and took it out on you. May I ask what happened to your father?”

Stella sighed. “He was a fighter pilot during World War II. He gave my mother this locket as a promise he would come back, but he never did. I was only four when he disappeared. My mother was never the same. She kept the locket as a reminder, and when I turned ten, she passed it to me. She never thought of selling it, even when times were tough. It’s priceless because of the memories it holds.”

She opened the locket, revealing two small photographs—one of her parents and the other of a baby. “These are my parents,” she said, her voice filled with emotion. “And this,” pointing to the baby’s photo, “is my son.”

“You’re going to see him?” Franklin asked.

“No,” Stella replied quietly. “I gave him up for adoption when he was a baby. I was alone and couldn’t provide for him the way he deserved. I’ve tried to reconnect recently and found him through a DNA test, but he told me he didn’t need me in his life. Today is his birthday, and I just wanted to be near him, even if I can’t be by his side.”

Franklin looked puzzled. “But if he doesn’t want to see you, why are you on this flight?”

Stella smiled softly. “He’s the pilot. It’s the only way I can be close to him on his birthday.”

Franklin was speechless. A few flight attendants and passengers who overheard the conversation were deeply moved. A stewardess slipped into the cockpit, and moments later, the pilot’s voice came over the intercom.

“In addition to our expected arrival at JFK, I’d like to give a special shout out to my birth mother, who is flying with us for the first time. Mom, please wait for me when we land.”

Stella’s eyes filled with tears as Franklin, ashamed of his earlier behaviour, smiled at her. When the plane landed, the pilot broke protocol and rushed out of the cockpit to embrace Stella in a long-awaited hug. Passengers and crew cheered as mother and son reunited.

As they hugged, her son, John, whispered, “Thank you for doing what was best for me all those years ago.” Overcome with emotion, Stella assured him that there was nothing to forgive and that she understood his silence.

From a distance, Franklin watched the reunion, grateful to have witnessed such a bittersweet moment and deeply regretful of his initial judgment. This was more than just a flight—it marked the beginning of something beautiful between Stella and her son.

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"ERICA AND HER SHOW N TELL"

"ERICA AND HER SHOW N TELL"
(author unknown)

I’ve been teaching for around fifteen years now. I have two kids of my own, but the best birth story I’ve ever heard actually happened in my own second-grade classroom a few years ago.

I’ve always loved show-and-tell, so I make sure to include it in my class. It helps the kids get over any shyness and gives them a chance to share something they’re excited about. Most of the time, it’s pretty standard stuff—pet turtles, model airplanes, a picture of a fish they caught. I never put any restrictions on what they bring in; as long as they can carry it and talk about it, they’re good to go.

One day, Erica, a bright, outgoing girl, took her turn. She waddled up to the front with a pillow stuffed under her sweater, holding a photo of a new born. “This is Luke, my baby brother,” she announced. “And I’m going to tell you all about his birthday.”

She began by explaining, “First, Mom and Dad made him as a symbol of their love. Then Dad put a seed in Mom’s tummy, and Luke grew in there. He ate through an umbrella cord for nine months.”

At this point, she was standing with her hands on her “belly,” and I was doing my best to keep a straight face. The other kids were completely captivated.

“Then, about two Saturdays ago,” she continued, “my Mom started going, ‘Oh, oh, oh, oh!’” She put her hand on her back, waddling back and forth, groaning. “She walked around the house like that for an hour, ‘Oh, oh, oh!’”

By now, Erica was doing a hilarious duck walk, and I wished I had my camcorder.

“My Dad called the middle wife,” she explained, “who delivers babies but doesn’t have a car sign like Domino’s.” She demonstrated how they got her mom into bed.

“Then, pop! Mom had a bag of water in there in case he got thirsty, and it just exploded all over!” She spread her legs and mimed water spraying everywhere, and I was trying not to lose it.

“The middle wife kept saying, ‘Push, push,’ and ‘Breathe, breathe,’” she went on. “They started counting, but they never got past ten. And then, out came my brother! He was covered in yucky stuff they said was from Mom’s play center. I guess there are a lot of toys in there! Then the middle wife spanked him for crawling up in there in the first place.”

With a big theatrical bow, Erica returned to her seat, and I’m sure I applauded the loudest. Since that day, whenever it’s show-and-tell time, I always bring my camcorder—just in case another “middle wife” story comes along.

So now, you have two choices…laugh and close this page or share it with someone else for a good laugh. I know what I did!

Live each day like it’s your last chance to make someone laugh.

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"BABY STEPS" by Becky Hemsley

"BABY STEPS"
by Becky Hemsley

We have to stop thinking that we’ve failed every time we fall.

When babies are learning to walk, we don’t assume they’ve failed every time they hit the ground. We realise that they are simply not done trying yet.

We praise them for getting up and going again.

Because we realise that it is much easier to fall down than it is to pull yourself back up to standing.

Babies don’t stop trying,

no matter how many times they fall.

They don’t give up. They get up.

And they continue to believe they can do it.

Sometimes it takes a long time. Sometimes they need to rest.

But they do get up.

They find their balance.

And eventually they walk.

Then they run. They skip, they gallop and they leap.

Sometimes we fall and sometimes we need to rest.

But we have not failed.

We are finding our balance.

And we are preparing to run.

Even if we need to take baby steps

at first.

******

Becky Hemsley 2023

Beautiful artwork by Anna Radis Art

'Baby Steps' is one of the first poems in 'Letters from Life' https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CHL9MZC1...

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"LISTEN" by Becky Hemsley

"LISTEN"
by Becky Hemsley

Listen when it’s raining

As the water hits the ground

And you’ll hear a million secrets

That are hidden in that sound

The pitter patter raindrops

Hold the whispered words inside

Of the people who have shared them

With the velvet midnight sky

The drops that pound the pavement

Spill out anger loud and harsh

They’re the words and thoughts of people

Who have cried beneath the stars

The rain that adds to oceans

And their vast capacious flow

Is the grief of people holding on

For fear of letting go

The waters flooding cities

Overwhelming homes and towns

Are the silent words of suffering

Entrusted to the clouds

And when the clouds are heavy

When our secrets fill the sky

When our thoughts are too oppressive

Then the Earth begins to cry

So listen when it’s raining

If you’re quiet then you’ll hear

All the secrets and emotions

That are muffled by Earth’s tears

******

Becky Hemsley 2020

Beautiful artwork by June Leeloo

'Listen' is from Talking to the Wild

https://a.co/d/gyBBmgR

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