Resurrecting the Last Chrysanthemum
"Close your eyes tight, mummy has a present for you."
Yes. My mother. The dialog still runs fresh in my mind.
When I was a kid, I had always complained about waking up early to go to school, but on that day, I didn’t. Why? Because my mum wanted to bring me to a place, a place that is very special. It was supposed to be a surprise.
A surprise. A ride with my mum beside the windowsill of the bus was happy enough for me. Bumpy, but I was quickly asleep due to the ecstatic feeling. I leaned on my mother’s arm, and it was as comfortable as my smelly pillow. Except that this time, it’s fragrant.
I woke up, and went out of the bus with my mom, just to find myself on a steep but smooth hill.
"Why did you bring me here, mummy?"
"Close your eyes tight, mummy has a present for you."
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My memories of my mum is fading. Being in a boarding school for five years and taking up pharmacy for seven years made it vanish even faster. Now, my mum has aged, but I’ve never visited my mother. We’ve only contacted each other using mails, along with photographs that painted smiles and warmth of a family.
Wait. A family? I’m sorry to mention this, but I only have my mother. My mother is my friend. My mother is my conscience. My mother is my family.
But being apart from my mother made me lose my memories of her. Being in another country for 12 years only made it worse. Still, there is one thing that I will never forget.
"Close your eyes tight, mummy has a present for you."
A present? Mummy’s poor. She shouldn’t be wasting her money to buy me a present!
I was shocked, but I closed my eyes as she pulled my right hand out of my pocket. She handed me something sticky, but soft at the same time.And I gripped it tight.
Softly as I open my eyes, I opened my palm. My heart was thumping hard on my chest, disallowing me to breathe, or to swallow my saliva. I noticed something green on my palm, even though it was dark.
A chrysanthemum.
A chrysanthemum. Can you believe it? Every year, children all over the world receives hundreds of gifts from their parents, but I can tell, that non of them were as delighted as me. My mum has not been able to afford any, but this is the best gift I had ever received. Even though that was the only gift I had received.
"No, not yet. Watch."
Yes, I watched. I witnessed one of the greatest invention of God at that time.
I saw. I eyed it. Exactly the way the sun rose majestically. Exactly the way it casted its golden hue on the hill. Exactly the way it opened my eyes.
A hill full of chrysanthemum! The whole field was gold it colour. It was the sweetest moment of my life. And then, I saw the soft smile of my mother.
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A knock on the door. It brought me back to reality.
"Your mum…. She was hospitalised!"
I went weak on my knees. The colour of my face quickly drained away and it went as stiff as a sheet of paper.
What? It wasn’t the news I’ve expected from my friend. But no, now is not the time to argue. Pack my items and quickly visit my mother!
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7 hours has passed. But at least I’m on the last train.
Passing through a field of golden paddy reminded me of the time I had with my mother.
"Close your eyes tight, mummy has a present for you."
Ah, better if I drop at this station and get my mother a chrysanthemum.
"I’m sorry, but now is not the time for chrysanthemum."
Disappointment. The statement by the florist is just a disappointment. But who cares? My mother’s health is more important. On I go, continuing my journey, again.
"Oh, she’s in Room 103, on the 5th floor."
Yes, I finally get the chance of meeting my mum. But I should blame myself. Only when she’s sick. I’m visiting her only when she’s sick. I should be ashamed of my self.
Opening the door to room 103 made me feel even more ashamed. I saw the doctor in the room. He was blanketing my mum.
But wait. Why is the doctor carrying a sad smile? Why is he covering beyond my mum’s neck? Is he trying to choke my mum? I quickly rushed in, slamming the door at the same time.
"Forgive me. I have tried my best."
I cried. How could this be? She has yet to see me graduating. She has yet to see me marry the one I love. And worst of all, she has yet to see me saying goodbye to her.
And I cried. I hugged her body tightly, hoping that the warmth will bring her back. It was just then, one of her arms were exposed to the sunlight. It held something green.
Curious enough, I’ve opened her palm.
A Chrysanthemum.
And there was a not attached to it:
"To my dearest son."
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