Without Parents, Life Is Difficult.

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This is my life, and the ending is not what you’d expect, yet you might like it.

My father lost his first wife and child in an accident and was unconscious for 14 days. His treatment needed a series of operations, yet he was determined to get up on his legs, which was quite impossible as his hip bone and thigh bone were severely fractured. However, he did it! He got up on his legs and married another beautiful lady, my mother, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life!

After much of the struggles and five long years of complications, my parents brought me to this beautiful world, to which I am thankful for. My mother lost 30 kilos of weight to get a daughter. They always wished for on. My mother was reluctant to adopt a girl as she wanted her own blood in her daughter’s veins, and so after all the struggle, I am sitting here.

She loved me with all her heart. I was the only one she couldn’t see getting hurt. I grew up fighting with her, but I would always hold her hand when I had a bad dream. She would even stay up until late and do my homework despite having to wake up at five the next morning. She was the one who would make me ice cream and golgappa treats.

One day, when I was about eleven years old, I yelled at her out of anguish and said I didn’t want a mother like her and wished nobody would ever get a mother like her. I never knew her medical conditions then. Her left side was paralysed; she had a smaller valve in her heart that kept putting pressure on her heart, lung infection, and blood clots. She cried that day; I made her cry.

A few months after her birthday, she got a seizure and deceased in the hospital when I was downstairs with my father buying medicines for her. I never got a chance to say sorry or goodbye. I am the villain of my story. I regret it. But this is not the thing I want to write here. After my mother died, my father brought me up with great difficulty. A teenage girl is, after all, not easy to handle. He handled my tantrums, my melodramatic emotions, my anguish, my mistakes, he cooked for me and did things I could never imagine.

I got surprises each morning. He took care of me, my dramas, my career, his office, our food, my needs and never ever complained. It’s been seven years I lost my mother to that dreadful day, but he never made me feel like I don’t have her. He is my mother. When you asked about some loving stories of mother and child, I felt mine was worth sharing.

My father is my mother, and I am lucky to have him.

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