In the town of Willowbrook, young Sarah was in a state of great excitement. Her school was putting on its annual play, and she had been offered a principal role. The school hall had been abuzz for weeks with rehearsals, prop (道具) preparations, and the students practicing their lines. Sarah had spent countless hours rehearsing, wanting to get every word and movement absolutely right.
However, underlying her anticipation was a growing sadness. Sarah’s dad, Mr Thompson, worked as an engineer in a big city, and his job often kept him away from home for a long time, which meant he frequently missed out on most of the special moments in Sarah’s life. This play seemed to be another addition to that growing list. He had a vital business meeting on the same day, and Sarah, although understanding, couldn’t help feeling disappointed. Her classmates talked excitedly about their families coming to watch, increasing her sense of loss.
It was bright and sunny on the day of the play. The school’s hall was noisy with students. Students in costumes rushed about, teachers gave last-minute instructions, and the air was thick with anticipation. Sarah peeped out from behind the curtains and saw the hall filling up with eager parents, siblings, and friends. Every seat was taken, except one — her dad’s.
The play started on time with Sarah and her classmates’ performance being the first. The actors delivered their lines with passion and the audience responded with laughter and applause at all the right moments. Sarah played her part with a mix of excitement and longing, wishing her dad could see her shine.
Halfway through, the host called for a surprise guest to enter. He described him as a “mysterious stranger” whose brief appearance would provide a turning point in the plot. As the lights dimmed slightly and suspenseful music played, a tall figure stepped onto the stage.
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Sarah’s heart jumped faster.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________When the final scene concluded and the curtains drew to a close, applause thundered through the hall.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________I was a 15-year-old girl when my beloved grandma Rosie was placed in a group home in Brookfield because of sharply declining memory. I can vividly remember the unpleasant environments inside the nursing home. That impression has ultimately impacted me in a very great way, even after I graduated from university with a degree in architecture.
Grandma Rosie was the heart of our family. Her little two-bedroom home was truly where all her children and grandchildren gathered. She was also an amazing cook and her specialty was fried pork steak. Most of my nephews and nieces were fans of her specialty. She lived alone after my grandpa passed away but was cared by many relatives and friends. When she was in her late 60s, we began to witness a significant memory impairment (受损) in her. Everyone started checking up on her. A frequent question that people would ask her, “What did you have for dinner?”, almost always brought the same answer — fried pork steak. Every day she would report making fried pork steak. One day a group of us went to her house secretly, and found she was making fried pork steak!
After some lengthy consideration, our family were concerned for her condition and ultimately decided to place Rosie in a group home in Brookfield. A year later, Rosie caught heart disease and her condition required her to be moved to a nursing home in Oconomowoc. Her memory also declined sharply and she no longer remembered our names. It was heartbreaking for our family to know that.
By that time, I was in high school and thinking about plans for college. Seeing the cold, sterile (呆板的) long hallways and unfriendly surroundings in the nursing home, I was determined to become a professional architect concentrating on senior care and health care design. I wanted to design living space where seniors can not only live but benefit from lovely environments.
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Bearing this goal in mind, I worked extremely hard.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Finally, Grandma Rosie moved into a senior living community I designed.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Alice had been optimistic and the heart of her family. Unfortunately, one day cancer attacked her brain. Although suffering from illness, Alice remained a source of encouragement, especially for Jenny, her 12-year-old daughter. Alice often read inspiring stories to her, helped with her homework, and cheered her up to solve difficulties bravely. When Alice’s condition worsened, the family’s daily life was enveloped in the shadow of uncertainty and sorrow.
In her final days, Alice made a video without letting Jenny know, and handed it to her husband John. She wanted Jenny to remember her when she grew up, not as the woman weakened by illness, but as the loving and optimistic mother she had always been.
After Alice’s passing, Jenny put her mother’s photographs in a box and locked herself in her own room. For her, going into the empty living room where she and her mother read together was heartbreaking. Even the routine of going to school, once a joyful activity shared with her mother, now became an unbearable pain. John tried his best to ease the pain left by Alice. He cooked Jenny her favorite meals, read bedtime stories, and even tried braiding (编) her hair, just the way Alice used to do. But Jenny, lost in sorrow, found little comfort in these efforts.
“Dad, I won’t go to school. I just want to be left alone,” Jenny shouted, her voice full of anger and hopelessness, when John asked her to prepare for school. John understood her pain but felt helpless. That was when he decided to show Jenny the video Alice had made. He hoped that hearing her mother’s voice might bring some comfort to Jenny. Gently walking upstairs and knocking on Jenny’s door, he entered with a video player. “Your mom left something for you,” he said, trying to mask his own sadness with a hopeful smile. Jenny, still teary-eyed, hesitated but eventually pressed the “play” button.
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Immediately, Alice’s smiling face appeared on the screen.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Jenny stepped out of her room with a smile on her face.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________One sunny afternoon, I was playing in the backyard when I noticed a beautiful shiny piece of paper lying on the table. It was leftover aluminum foil (锡纸) from a package my mum had opened. I picked it up and was immediately attracted by its sparkling appearance. Curiosity got the best of me, and I couldn’t help but ask my dad about it.
“Dad, what is this paper called? It’s so shiny and beautiful!” I inquired, holding the aluminum foil up for him to see.
My dad chuckled and replied, “That’s. called aluminum foil, and it has many uses.”
Naturally, my curiosity was piqued (激发), and I eagerly asked, “What can it be used for?”
My dad smiled and said, “Why don’t you research it yourself? It’ll be a great opportunity for you to learn something new. ”
With a sense of excitement, I grabbed my phone and started researching on the Internet. I found out that it is a type of metal paper called aluminum foil, which is moisture-proof(防潮的). As I looked through the information, an idea popped into my head. What if I put some water in a small aluminum foil container and heated it in the microwave? Would the water boil?
Unable to resist the urge to experiment, I cut a piece of aluminum foil and folded it into a small square container. I added some water into the container and placed it in the microwave. With my eyes wide open, I anxiously watched the aluminum foil container, filled with anticipation. But before I could see any changes in the water, suddenly a burst of fire erupted from the microwave, surprising me. I quickly rushed to unplug the appliance and collapsed onto the floor, feeling a great fear.
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My dad, hearing the sound, hurried over and asked, “What happened? ”
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My dad’s comforting words sank in, and I made a promise to myself to become more careful in my life.
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When I was a boy, I always wore turtleneck shirts because I was so sensitive and shy. I worked hard to earn exceptional marks and always tried to behave well. I was younger than everyone else because my good marks had allowed me to skip second grade, but this added nothing to my already low self-confidence.
When I was 14, my parents divorced (离婚). I moved in with my dad in a new neighborhood, but he was always so busy and had little time for me. It seemed the only time he ever spoke to me was to be demanding or critical. I began to hate coming home from school every day. I sank further into my low self-esteem (自尊心) and was overwhelmed with feeling unappreciated and alone.
One day, my aunt called. This seemed like a miracle (奇迹) to me. Aunt Ginette usually only called once a year, on my birthday. She said she had just seen some young teenagers participate in a public speaking contest, and she thought I should try it, too. She told me she firmly believed I could perform on stage like the other kids since she had seen me do skits (幽默小品) for the family at Christmas.
I was a little surprised. Me? Onstage? In a public speaking contest? I was hesitant. But Aunt Ginette was so confident and seemed really serious. Feeling her strong belief, I went against all odds and agreed to enter the contest.
All that winter, twice a week after dinner, I took three different buses for the three-hour round-trip to practice in Ville d’Anjou, where the competition would take place. Although my dad really did love me and wanted the best for me, he disapproved of this new dream, fearing it would take away from my homework time and impact my academic performance. But I remained a top performer in school and never missed a day.
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Four months later, the big night arrived.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________When I saw my father’s face, his eyes were shining－he was so proud.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________In the spring sun, my aunt and I headed for her flower shop. Normally I would be delighted to help in her shop, but not recently because of Rosa. Rosa was my sister, just one month old, who was settled in my old bedroom. For ten years, the small room was full of my toys and books. But now it was transformed into her baby room, decorated like a garden with pinks and yellows. My space, my old life, was gone.
“Here we are!” We arrived at the shop, a wave of colour and sweet smell washing over me. My aunt said I could pick some flowers for Mum and Dad. I used to love this, but today I was so overcome with tiredness and envy. Why bother to bring them flowers when they were enjoying Rosa at home without me?
Silently I helped my aunt arrange flowers. “Your mum told me there hasn’t been much shut eye recently for any of you.” “Not much, since Rosa the alarm clock was installed (安装).” I complained with a huge yawn (哈欠).
“I remember having to creep (蹑手蹑脚地走) around like a worn-out mouse when your mum was a baby. I spent the first months hating her so much.” “But you and Mum seem so close,” I said, guiltily hiding away my envy of Rosa.
“Now we are. But it took me years to grow into the role of big sister. Few flowers blossom (绽放) overnight, you know.” She pulled me in for aside hug, glancing up at the clock, and suggested I take a walk outside.
Behind her shop was a field dotted with spring flowers. Stepping into the field, I began to pick little flowers. It was like gathering my childhood memories. I remembered how I’d sit with Dad, making flower chains, crowning (授予) each other with the silliest titles: Queen of Junk Food and King of Mess. My smile grew wider. The shining yellow flowers reminded me of the color in Rosa’s baby room. Was she awake? I wondered.
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Suddenly I saw two familiar figures walking towards me.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Rosa was wide awake in her baby basket beside the picnic blanket.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________It was a chilly Friday night, and I had just returned from climbing one of the red rocks of Sedona. My father telephoned me as I walked through the arches to my dorm room and told me that my mother had been in a terrible car crash and had been taken to the intensive care unit (重症监护病房) of a nearby hospital.
When I got to the hospital, my father led me down a wide hallway with machines all around. A strong smell of medicine brought a sick feeling to my already tuning stomach. As I turned into my mother’s ward, the cadaverous (形容枯槁的) condition of her body shocked me. Her face had swollen, her eyes had huge dark bruise, and she had tubes down her throat and in her arms. Gently holding her cold swollen hands, I said “hi” in a calm voice, controlling my urge to cry out.
She kept looking at me as she pounded her hand against the bed, looking painful. I turned my face away from her, trying to hide the tears that were rolling down my face. That was when it struck me that I really might lose my mother.
From that night on, my life completely changed. Up to that point, I’d had the luxury of just being a kid, having to deal with only the exaggerated melodramas of teenage life. As my mother struggled first to stay alive and then to relearn to walk, my sense of priorities changed sharply. My mother needed me. The trials and trouble of my daily life at school, which had seemed so important before, now appeared insignificant. My mother and I had faced death together, and life took on a new meaning for both of us.
After a week of treatment in intensive care, my mother’s condition improved enough to be moved to a regular hospital ward. She was finally out of danger but, because her legs had been crushed, there was doubt whether she would be able to walk again. I was just grateful that she was alive. Two months later, a sort of hospital suite was set up in our family room, and she was allowed to come home.
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My mother’s return home was a blessing for us all, but it meant some unaccustomed responsibilities for me.
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My mother’s reliance on me changed our relationship.
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My mother’s gift
A dandelion (蒲公英) in my dictionary always reminds me of my lunchtimes with my mother.
When I was in the third grade, I was picked to be the princess in the school play, and for weeks my mother had painstakingly (费力地) practised my lines with me. But no matter how easily I delivered them at home, as soon as I stepped onstage, every word disappeared from my head. Finally, my teacher took me aside. She explained that she had written a narrator’s part to the play, and asked me to switch roles.
I didn’t tell my mother what had happened when I went home for lunch that day. But she sensed my unease, and instead of suggesting we practice my lines, she asked if I wanted to walk in the yard.
It was a lovely spring day and the rose leaves were turning green. We could see yellow dandelions popping through the grass in bunches, as if a painter had touched our landscape with a little bit of gold.
I watched my mother casually bend down by one of the dandelions. “I think I’m going to dig up all these weeds,” she said, suddenly pulling a flower up by its roots. “From now on, we’ll have only roses in this garden.”
“But I like dandelions,” I protested. “All flowers are beautiful — even dandelions.” My mother looked at me seriously. “Yes, every flower gives pleasure in its own way, doesn’t it?” she asked thoughtfully. I nodded, pleased that I had won her over. “And that is true of people too,” she added. “Not everyone can be a princess, but there is no shame in that.”
Relieved that she had guessed my pain, I started to cry as I told her what had happened.
“But you will be a beautiful narrator,” she said, reminding me of how much I loved to read stories aloud to her. “The narrator’s part is as important as the part of a princess.”
Over the next few weeks, with her constant encouragement, I learned to take pride in the role. Lunchtimes were spent reading over my lines and talking about what I would wear.
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Backstage on the night of the performance, I felt nervous.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________After the play, I took home the flower I had placed in the pocket.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Her pale face stood out against the blackness of her hair. She looked much younger than her fifteen years, a worn coat hanging loose above her. We weren’t supposed to take a child, but an emergency call came through that morning. A home was needed for a young girl immediately.
I, together with four children, hurried to get her room ready. The kids were great. Joanne, our second-eldest daughter, did the cleaning and Margaret, Rob and Jeff helped make the bed. I felt my heart pounding in my chest. I was excited, but scared at the same time because I was told an adopted child might give us a lot of trouble.
That afternoon, Trudy arrived with the social worker Mrs. Kline. She stepped into the front hall and stood against the wall. I will never forget the look in her eyes. The first thing that came to my mind was that she looked like a hunted animal. The children moved towards her, and Jeff grabbed her hand and said proudly, “Come and see your room. I helped make your bed.” Trudy pulled back, speechless.
At this point, I stepped towards her and said, "Welcome to our home, Trudy. “She looked at me with such blank eyes. But with her head bowed, she simply said, eyes moving back and forth like a creature looking for a way out, “No, thank you.”
For the first two weeks, Trudy was very quiet. She would come into the kitchen while I was working, and we would discuss school and what she would like to do in the future. Mrs. Kline had given us all the information about her history, but I never mentioned the terrible things that had happened to her.
As the days went by, Trudy became a delight to have around. Very quickly, it seemed like she had always been with us. The girls would sit in each other’s rooms and giggle(咯咯笑) like typical teenagers. It was a sound that warmed my soul. However, when they talked about new clothes, Trudy fell silent again.
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I took Joanne shopping for a winter coat, and Trudy came too.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Back home, I presented the jacket Trudy had tried on.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________For decades before my mother’s diagnosis(诊断) of Alzheimer’s in 2001, we had suffered a tense relationship born from her alcoholism. When I learned she had Alzheimer’s, my hope for reconciliation(言归于好) and forgiveness disappeared — along with her abilities to think.
But the world of Alzheimer’s is full of surprises! As Mom’s disease progressed, the ways I had disappointed her disappeared from her consciousness, and our struggles over my healthy life choices that differed from hers effortlessly ended. In her “now,” I was her kind, loving companion.
My faithful presence was all that mattered to her, and for the first time in my life, I felt wholeheartedly accepted by my mom -just exactly as I am. The wounds from the past began to heal in the arms of a mother who loved me in the present.
For our relationship to truly heal, my acceptance of Mom was also essential. Having learned about the process of decline determined by Alzheimer’s, I acknowledged her limitations. I let go of expecting her to be the mother I had always wanted, and accepted the mother wholeheartedly she now was. After doing this, I noticed that she had, in many ways, become the mother I needed.
Because I didn’t expect, demand, or want Mom to be anyone other than who she was at each moment, she became the one person who could never let me down. I gratefully received whatever she offered, not asking for more. From this viewpoint, I realized just how much Mom was still able to give — including important things a daughter needs from her mother. For example, I trusted that she would be available to me (she was living in a secure memory care unit) whenever I was sad or stressed and needed a hug — from my Mom. She was always happy to see me. Always. And she let me know that I was appreciated — through looks, smiles, touches, and sounds.
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Perhaps Mom lacked the ability to intentionally mother me in these ways.
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I also believe she couldn’t possibly enjoy the excitement and laughs on her own.
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