I was 8 years old. I had little need of luggage. But something about that old leather suitcase appealed to my imagination. The piece was better suited to my grandparents’era than my own. In fact, I had found it in my grandmother's house. Grandmother didn’t object, and so the suitcase came to live beneath my bed.

It was a cloudy fall morning, and a fine mist dampened the fallen leaves. I was angry. My mother had slighted me somehow, though now I have no idea what sparked my anger. I was upset, and I wanted to make her pay. I wanted to give her a taste of what life would be like without me.

I would run away.

“Goodbye, Mom. ”I stood outside the kitchen door，suitcase grasped firmly in hand.

“Goodbye, Mom, ”I repeated twice more，cracking open the swinging door with my foot the final time, to make sure she’d heard.

At last, Mom emerged, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She gave me the once over. I lifted the suitcase a little just to make sure she didn’t miss it.

“I'm leaving, ” I said.

I'd rehearsed for the anticipated reaction. The plan was to let her beg for a minute or two, and then I would cave after I was sure of her being sorry.

“Did you pack a lunch?”

Mom’s question knocked me off balance. Where were the tears? The begging? The pleas? “I said I'm leaving,”I said. “I'm running away. For…ever. ”I drew out the dreaded word, sure it would crack her resolve. Instead, she smiled.

“Well, would you like me to fix you something? A sandwich? Bag of chips? I just made chocolate chip cookies. ”

“I'm really going. ”I said.

“I can see that. ”

“Maybe a cookie. ”And then, “All right, I'm off. ”

I stepped out with fresh-baked cookie in my pocket.

A moment later,I began to walk back.

How did I find the strength to even breathe, much less walk, talk or live, after the death of my 15-year-old son from an accident two years ago? My mother is the short and long answer.

My beautiful, blue-eyed, blond-haired son, bright, athletic, loving, popular_, lost his own life, and my life as I knew it went with him. I was blindsided. The intense grief and extreme pain were unbearable and still are at times. But that is another story. This story is about my mother who, although she died two years before my son, was and is my strongest pillar.

My mother was born in 1924 and, from one perspective, was one of the lucky ones during the Great Depression. Her father was an assistant district lawyer, so she grew up with food on the table, decent clothes and a warm apartment to live in.

She married my father, a heart surgeon, shortly after World War Ⅱ. They moved to Pittsburgh in 1958 and raised six children in Fox Chapel, ending up with 15 grandchildren by the time they celebrated their 60th anniversary a few weeks before she died at age 86.

As a mother and spouse, she was remarkable. Taking my father's long, stressful hours at General Hospital into account, she was in charge of everything—finances, school schedules, housework, discipline. She was also involved in volunteer activities for the hospital and American Heart Association.

Dealing with things in a practical way, she managed to attend her children's many activities with enthusiasm and still make time to sit with my father when he got home long after the dinner hour. She would listen to his day's events devotedly, and she rarely complained about his long hours or her many responsibilities.

Often doubled over in fits of laughter at the dinner table, she had a great sense of humor and was infamous for having quiet laugh attacks during Sunday mass. She loved to read and was addicted to her daily crossword puzzles. I loved all these things about my mother and sought to imitate her as a young woman.

My mother never complained.

But after ex experiencing the loss of my son, I found myself…

A MOTHER’S DAY SURPRISE

The twins were filled with excitement as they thought of the surprise they were planning for Mother’s Day. How pleased and proud Mother would be when they brought her breakfast in bed. They planned to make French toast and chicken porridge. They had watched their mother in the kitchen. There was nothing to it. Jenna and Jeff knew exactly what to do.

The big day came at last. The alarm rang at 6 a.m. The pair went down the stairs quietly to the kitchen. They decided to boil the porridge first. They put some rice into a pot of water and left it to boil while they made the French toast. Jeff broke two eggs into a plate and added in some milk. Jenna found the bread and put two slices into the egg mixture. Next, Jeff turned on the second stove burner to heat up the frying pan. Everything was going smoothly until Jeff started frying the bread. The pan was too hot and the bread turned black within seconds. Jenna threw the burnt piece into the sink and put in the other slice of bread. This time, she turned down the fire so it cooked nicely.

Then Jeff noticed steam shooting out of the pot and the lid starting to shake. The next minute, the porridge boiled over and put out the fire. Jenna panicked. Thankfully, Jeff stayed calm and turned off the gas quickly. But then she caught the smell of burning. Oh dear! The piece of bread in the pan had turned black as well.

As the twins looked around them in disappointment, their father appeared. Seeing the black bread and the spilled porridge, Dad suddenly figured out their secret. A smile of understanding flashed across his face. Without a second thought, Dad offered to help. A ripple of excitement ran through them. They helped clean the kitchen while their father cooked a sandwich and some porridge skillfully. Soon, the delicious smell of breakfast filled the kitchen. Dad hinted to show that it was a secret and went back to the bedroom, asking the twins to go on to carry out their great plan.

The twins carried the breakfast upstairs and woke their mother up.

Sweet Roses Given, Pleasant Smell in Hand

Abel and Bess had a happy family and two lovable children. One day, they needed an outing and would be gone for several days. They hired a woman to care for the children and finished the trip, returning home a little earlier than they had planned.

As they drove into their hometown, they noticed smoke, and they went off their usual route to see what it was. When Abel drove closer, he shouted, “That house in flames belongs to Fred Jones who works at the plant. He wouldn’t be off work yet, maybe there is something we could do.” “It’s too dangerous. Let’s go home. Our babies are waiting for us!” protested Bess.

However, Abel drove up and they were shocked to see the whole house in flames. A woman on the grass was crying wildly, “The children! Get the children!” Abel rushed forward and took hold of her by the shoulder, saying, “Calm yourself and tell us where the children are!” “In the basement,” cried the woman, “Down the hall and to the left.”

In spite of Bess’s protests, Abel rapidly wetted his clothes with the water hose, put his wet jacket on his head and rushed into the smoky and hot basement. He felt his way to the door and found two children, holding one under each arm, and stormed out. Abel succeeded in bringing the two badly frightened children into waiting arms. As he left, he seemed to hear some more cries from nearby.

When Abel asked the children how many more were down there, he was told two more.

Shanti wanted the wooden doll in Ramu’s toy shop. “The one with the red dress, ” she told her best friend, Jodi.

“How will you afford it?” Jodi asked.

Shanti smiled, “I asked my mom if I could make jasmine garlands (茉莉花环) and sell them at my aunt’s market stall (摊位). Want to do that, too?”

“Good idea!” said Jodi.

Early the next morning, the girls met at the jasmine bushes outside of Shanti’s house. Beautiful white flowers surrounded them with fresh scent. They picked the flowers and dropped them into a basket. Then the girls sat under a tree and knotted(捆扎)the flowers into garlands. Shanti could already see herself hugging that beautiful doll.

“If we sell enough garlands, we can each get a doll, ” said Shanti.

Jodi shook her head. “My family is low on money this week. I’ll use my money to pay for Kiran’s medicine. ” Kiran was Jodi’s little brother. “Is he sick?”

Shanti asked. “He is. But when he gets his medicine, he’ll be fine. ” Jodi picked up her garlands.

“My mother is expecting me. I’ll meet you at the market. ”

Shanti spent the afternoon selling garlands at her aunt’s market stall. But where was Jodi?By early evening Shanti had sold all her flowers.

Shanti was on her way home when she saw Jodi heading to the market with her garlands. “Why are you so late?” Shanti asked.

“I had to watch Kiran while my mother did her work, ” Jodi said.

“Why didn’t you take him with you?” Shanti said.

Jodi shook her head. “He’s too sick to go out. He coughs and coughs. ”

Shanti knew Jodi wouldn’t make enough money for the medicine now. The market would be closing soon, Shanti looked at the money in her hand. It was supposed to be for. the beautiful doll she’d been dreaming of for so long. Then she looked at her friend’s tired face. “Here, keep this for the medicine. ”

Shanti put her money into Jodi’s hands.

That night, Shanti cried, thinking about the doll. What if someone bought it before she’d saved up enough again?

The next week, while Shanti and Jodi gathered blossoms, Kiran came, too. The medicine had cured his cough, and he helped them sell out all the garlands. When parting, Jodi said, “Shanti, we have prepared something for you. ” But Shanti was so anxious that she didn’t seem to have time to hear them out. She quickly ran to Ramu’s shop, only to find the doll had been sold. Broken﹣hearted, she ran back home and told Mom everything, tears flowing down in flood.

Unfortunately, Ramu told Shanti someone had bought the doll.