That day, my mother’s left eye got diagnosed with an illness that will eventually make her blind, as we’d sat outside the doctor’s office, we became silent to each other, since then, we’d NOT held our movie nights routine.
My mother did not get beaten by this, instead, she’d found information online on her own, worked hard with the doctor’s treatment plans for her; that illness comes without any abnormalities, like how the star light that was refracted into the eyes slowly, disappeared, first, the light was twisted, slanted, in the end, disappeared, into total darkness.
Those days, we’d often sang, “You’re My Eyes”, and had mocked the blind singers, singing and dancing, pointing into the distance, wanted to use this lighter atmosphere of having fun, to chase away the gloom brought on by this illness.
On the way back that day, my mother said she wanted to take a longer stroll, we’d taken the bus to the terminal station, and walked, for one and a half hour back home. I’d carried my mother’s big bag on one shoulder, and my own on the other, one hand on the umbrella, one hand, to hold her hand, she’d lost her sense of balance too, passing by the shops in the night markets, we’d stopped by to see if there’s something we wanted to have, passing by the ice shops, we’d stopped and go for a treat, all the way home, we’d used our feet to record, and used our hearts to experience, as if that day was a special memorial, to give commend to my growth, to her strength.
Dearest mom, those words I couldn’t say before are here now: I’m willing to read for you, willing to be your eyes too; my dearest mom, no matter how far the roads will go, how long, I will keep accompanying you ‘til the end.
And this, is how a child takes care of her own mother, and, there’s a TON of adjustments that the mother will be making, because of her eye problems, and with this daughter by her side, the mother will have it easier.