My Mother’s Memory

By Fareshta Amiri

I lived with my old father and my 20-year-old sister in a village, which was far from the pollution and noise of the city, a completely quiet village with medium-sized facilities and fields, where all people had their culture, economy and standard of living on the same level.

I wished to become a doctor and treat illnesses like my mother’s illness. I lost her at the age of eight to diabetes. I was staring at the mirror while brushing my long dark brown hair with my brown eyes. I looked at a photo that was hung on the wall of my room and some drops surrounded my eyes but I smiled so that my mother could see happiness in me and to see a reflection of my mother.

I had only one memory from my mother: a diary with red roses sketched on it.

Every day, touching my diary, I felt my mother’s warm embrace. She gave it to me on my eighth birthday. With the fresh and windy summer weather, I decided to go outside with my warm jacket and my diary. Because the weather was getting dark and it smelled like the days I used to spend with my mother, I walked until I arrived at the road that was far from our house. I sat down next to the road and my eyes were staring at the sunset. While I was writing about my past life and my future path/plans, I was drowned in the northern wind. Suddenly a frightening storm came to my side. I was shocked to see the change of weather in a second. I panicked for a moment, my hands were numb and my body felt cold. My diary dropped on the road, it was taken by the rough streams of water. I started following the stream of the road, chasing the diary. The road was too tough. But I was only running to follow the waves of the road. My hands were cold and my body felt tired. I just hoped to face a stone that would stop it. But I could do nothing and returned exhausted back home.

I was crying and went to my room and sat down next to the window. The diary was my only memory that remained from my mother, but I lost it forever. My older sister came into my room, “What’s up Sara, why are you crying?” she asked. I explained all the adventures. “Don’t cry, Sara,’’ she said. “You know many people have lost their worthy and memorable things. Everything that we lose can remain only a memory and we can take the lost things as an omen.”

She made me calm as always. I felt better because she reminded me to be calm and think only about my future’s path. I am really glad to have this kind and powerful family. After that, I forgot the event of losing my diary and stood up for all my future goals and aspirations. The loss of my past diary became the weapon of my success.

23 September, 2022