My mother fought cancer for a long time. When she was 27 and my father was 31, she passed away. There were 3 of us in the family. The youngest child, that is, me, was not yet 2 years old. My father urgently needed to find a wife, or rather, a mother for us, because he could not cope. Six months later, he went to a woman he knew and asked her to give him her daughter. The woman didn’t even listen to him, she blessed him immediately. That’s how a 21-year-old new mother came to our family. Anna immediately took care of the house. She put it in order. With her own money, she bought fabric and sewed school uniforms for 2 of us. The older ones immediately started calling her mom, but I did not. I had some difficulties with this topic. I learned late to say that it was not easy with me. One day, I showed Anna that my mother’s hair was always tied up in a low bun. After that, she always walked around with that bun on her head.
I didn’t call her mom even after that. Then my dad came up with an adventure. Anna baked my favorite pie and all the family sat down at the table. They pounced on my pie, and I was not allowed to even approach it until I called Anna my mother. After 3 years, my mother gave birth to her 4th child, but her first. Then things started to get worse for our family. Dad couldn’t find a job in his profession and joined a collective farm. My mom also got a job there. After 4 years, our second child was born. My mother never divided us into “her own” and “not her own”. After 5 years, my second mother fell ill with the same disease as the first. At that time, my elders were already studying at a university in another city. My mom was in the hospital, and I visited her every day. She kept telling the doctors that she shouldn’t be sick, that she had small children waiting for her at home. My mother defeated the disease.
There was no limit to our joy, she suffered from this abomination, but she was stronger. After that, when it seemed that life was getting better, our family began to lose the closest people. Six months later, my parents’ first son together was going to get married. On the eve of the wedding, he disappeared. On the 36th day of the search, he was found. Or rather, he was found and buried. After that, I moved in with my parents. I could not leave my mother alone. After him, my father died, then my older brother, and later my mother’s youngest grandson. He was the son of my younger sister. The whole family got into an accident, but only her son was injured. I am amazed and sincerely do not understand how, after going through such hell, my mother retained her kindness, tenderness, and love. She raised 5 children, takes care of her grandchildren, and now she has 2 great-grandchildren. Every morning, she gets up early, cleans the whole house and sits down to knit little things for her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. For us, her children, it is a pleasure to spend our free time with our mother. Despite her age, she always has something to talk about. Her love is enough for everyone.
