The Sobs of my Mother
By
supacademia
My success at the college entrance exam was not a joy. My father died the same year. I was twelve and distraught.
When my father disappeared on February 19, 1972, I had just left primary school for the College and my first year was when I learned more than I needed to learn. Not from college, but from my mother. And yet she spoke little.
I never surprised her to cry but often to sigh. I felt the rattle in her throat and sometimes guessed her foggy eyes at the look she was giving us.
I was young and I did not understand. Today, I feel more of my mother's sobs
When my father disappeared on February 19, 1972, I had just left primary school for the College and my first year was when I learned more than I needed to learn. Not from college, but from my mother. And yet she spoke little.
I never surprised her to cry but often to sigh. I felt the rattle in her throat and sometimes guessed her foggy eyes at the look she was giving us.
I was young and I did not understand. Today, I feel more of my mother's sobs
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