When I was little, Mom took me on walks, then cried in the bathroom afterward. I’d knock; she’d say, “Mommy’s fine.” She died three years ago. Only now do I realize she was torn between being strong for me and bearing her own burdens.
Back then, I didn’t understand why peaceful walks ended in quiet sobs. She’d wipe her eyes, smile, and make snacks or read stories, shielding my childhood from her pain.
As I grew, life’s challenges taught me to see her not just as “Mom,” but as a woman striving daily. She never complained, choosing love and sacrifice despite feeling overwhelmed.
Her tears weren’t weakness, but strength. She hid worries, fears, and dreams to secure my future, protecting my innocence.
If I could speak to her now, I’d hold her hands, say I truly see her, and thank her for every silent battle. Though she’s gone, her love teaches me: the strongest hearts cry quietly yet choose kindness and hope for those they love most.
