“I WAS A 23-YEAR-OLD MOTHER…”——— M. PUREVMAA (Dali Jiguur)
My mother WAS young and pretty. I only spent one year of my entire life with her, so I don’t know much about her. He used to kiss my hand when I was breastfeeding.
He always had me on his lap wherever he went, whether it was cleaning the house or going shopping. I have never slept apart from my mother since I was born. My young, beautiful mother who hugs you in her warm bosom and sings lullabies. I have never been away from my mother for an hour.
That’s how much my mother LOVED me. Even when I yell at my parents or hit them, my mother still looks at me. Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid, he tells you not to be afraid of anything because his mother is by his side. He looked at me with his teary eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry for showing you something ugly.”
I forgive my mother every time she “shows me something ugly”. Parents were beaten. My mother didn’t call for help because she didn’t want to scare me. Does not call. If called, someone HAD to help. My parents choked my mother’s throat like before. I was just learning to walk and I cried for nothing because I had no strength.
Mom was trying to look at me while she was struggling like that. My son was trying to tell me not to be afraid, this will all be over soon. But my mother didn’t look at me this time. Then the father and mother’s clothes were set on fire. And then it was gone. I crawled to my mother.
“Mom, something bad happened. Hug me,” he cried, throwing his arms around. My mother was NOT moving. And when I tried to hug my mother, the fire burned my hand and I didn’t get close. There was a fire between my mother and me. My mother was swallowed by that fire.
I could not hug my mother. Just an hour ago, my shirt burned behind my shirt. Just an hour ago, the hands that hugged me, the lips that kissed me, the loving gaze, the heart that was destroyed by evil things and fire. Now I’m in a nursing home.
I used to wake up every night and sleep on my mother’s warm lap, and I don’t like all this. I feel like my mother would pull the fire out of her clothes and hug her, saying, “Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid, something bad has happened.”
Father, why don’t you leave my mother to me? Father, I could never ask you to love me and count me in my life. If only my mother had been left to me, it wouldn’t have mattered if I grew up without a father or if the children in the family teased me for not having a father.
I will spend the rest of my life remembering my mother who was burned in the fire. As you get older, you won’t remember his face. Perhaps, like many children who will grow up here, he will believe that he was born from cabbage. But my mother’s scent will always be on me. Breast milk always tastes good to my palate.
I will never forget that I HAD a mother. Now no one will hold me in their warm arms like a mother. I was sleeping at night and turned off the blanket. No one came and covered it. It’s winter outside, this room is cool. Even though I’m cold, I’m still sleeping.
I can’t cover the blanket with my mother’s ashes, I’m crying on my knees. My mother is young and pretty. I LOVED it so much. My father killed my mother.
My father, who kept us together for just one year and then separated us, is the same as mine. We will meet one day. Father, tell me about my young and beautiful mother at that time. I HAD a mother. I was not born from cabbage.