Motherly Love

Motherly Love

My family moved to Lê Thánh Tôn Street when I was very young, possible in 1967 because I did not start elementary school yet.

One day my mother took me to the Saigon hospital for vaccination. We rode a buggy-cycle home. I wanted to sit down on the buggy floor, and my mother let me sit as I wished. After we travelled a short distance, our cycle hit a motorcycle; I fell off the cycle and landed on the street. My hands were scratched and bruised. I was badly hurt and cried continuously.

My mother released the cycle and walked me to inside the Saigon market to find something to comfort me. I shook my head to everything presented to me, until I spotted a Batman inflatable doll. I pointed the doll to mother and said I would like to have it.

My mother stood there and spoke to the merchant at length. A little later, my mother handed the doll to me, and then walked me home.

I told my mother that my legs were tired, so she picked me up, carried me in her arms and continued to walk. Then she put me down to walk when her arms were tired, only to pick me up again when I complained that my legs were again tired. So, mother and child struggled to walk home in that manner from Saigon market.

Ever since, I often relived the accident in my dreams; and when I woke up I remembered the extreme physical and mental effort that my mother and I made to get home that day. In my youth, I often contracted fever, epilepsy and whooping-cough; I often sprang up and coughed persistently, and when I lay down the scene of the accident came back to haunt me. Although I was young, I understood vaguely that owning such a doll was not easy.

As I started my middle school, I was more mature to understand all that happened on that dreadful day: when I wanted to have the Batman doll, my mother did not have enough money to purchase it; she stood there for some time and negotiated with the merchant for a reduced price. Instead of buying another toy, she determined to get me the doll that I liked most. After paying for the doll, my mother ran out of money and was unable to hire a cycle for the trip back home. Thus, she carried me in her arms and walked home.

Since I understood that my mother purchased a toy to comfort me at a price beyond her ability to pay, I did not ask her for anything else. That time was more than sufficient for me.

* * *

My mother is deceased as of this writing. As short as it is, this story commemorates a boundless motherly love and unsurpassed sacrifice that my mother made so that I could be happy, even just for a short time.

Although the 49-day remembrance of my mother’s death has long passed, I continue to make offerings and pray daily to Amitabha Buddha like in the early days following her death. As long as my mother is at peace in the Buddha realm of Western Paradise, I do not mind the effort and time for prayers.

On the occasion of the Vu Lan Festival, I share this story with my siblings, a memory that I have cherished for forty-four years.

Don Le

Vaughan, July 2011

English version by Du Yen

Buggy-cycle