In her silence.. - by Ruthieee

My mother never had enough. At least,that is what I thoughtwhen I was younger. I saw the way she calculated things. The way she thought twicebefore spending. The way she could make somethingout of almost nothing. The way she would say, “Don't worry, we'll manage.” And somehow, we always did. I don't remembergoing to bed thinkingthere was nothing to eat. I don't rememberfeeling like we were poor. Because my mothernever let us feel poor. She had little, but somehowwe always had enough. Enough food. Enough clothes. Enough school supplies. Enough love. Enough. --- My sister and Iwent to some of the best schools in town. The kind of schoolspeople looked at and thought, “Ah, these children are well taken care of.” And we were. We really were. But sometimes I wonderif anyone ever looked at my motherand asked, “Who is taking care of you?” Because she made surewe had everything. Even when she probablydidn't have everything herself. She would find a way. She always found a way. And we would go to schoolwith our uniforms clean, our bags packed, our fees paid, our lives looking normal. We were just children. We didn't knowhow much it cost herto make our lives look that easy. --- Sometimes, I would look at my motherfor a little longer than usual. Just watching her. Watching her move around the house. Watching her talk. Watching her laugh. Watching her worry. And there was alwaysa question sitting somewhereinside me. One I never had the courageto ask. “Ma, are you contented with us?” Are two daughters enough? Are we enough? Did you ever look at usand secretly wishthere was a boy too? Did you ever wonderwhat your life would have looked likeif you had a son? Did you ever feellike something was missing? I never asked. Because I was scaredof the answer. Not because I thoughtmy mother didn't love us. I knew she did. I just knewthe world had spent so many yearstelling women like herthat daughters were not enough. And I wonderedif those voices had everbecome her own voice. --- I knew she cried in secret. I didn't always see the tears. But I knew. There are some thingsa child simply knowsabout their mother. You notice the silence. The tiredness. The way she suddenlybecomes quiet. The way she wipes her facebefore anyone can askwhat happened. The way she says, “I'm fine.” when you knowshe isn't. My mother criedwhere nobody could see. And then she came backto us. She cooked. She cleaned. She laughed. She took care of us. She became our mother again. As if her hearthad not just broken somewherein a room we never entered. --- Maybe she criedbecause of the children she lost. Maybe she criedbecause of the thingsshe could not change. Maybe she criedbecause people kept askingabout a son. Maybe she criedbecause she was tired. Maybe she criedbecause being strongevery single dayis exhausting. I don't know. Maybe it was all of it. But I know this— she never made usfeel like we were the reasonshe suffered. She never looked at meand said, “You are not what I wanted.” She never looked at my sisterand made her feellike she was second best. Instead, she gave us everythingshe could. And when she couldn't giveeverything, she gave us enough. --- I think about that nowand it makes me emotional. Because childrenare so innocent. We see the food. We don't see the money. We see the uniform. We don't see the sacrifice. We see the school. We don't see the fees. We see our mother smiling. We don't see the tearsshe cried when we were asleep. We see that everything is okay. We don't knowhow hard she workedto make it okay. --- And my father was there too. He had his own struggles. His own expectations. His own ideaof what a family should look like. And maybe he toohad moments where he wonderedabout having a son. Maybe he felt the pressurethat society puts on fathers. A son to carry the name. A son to continue the family. A son to say, “That is my boy.” But life gave him daughters. And here we are. Two girls. Two lives. Two people who grew upwatching our parentsgive what they could. Maybe we were notthe family pictureeveryone expected. But we were still a family. --- Sometimes I wishI could go back in time. Find my motheron one of those nightswhen she thought nobody was watching. Sit beside her. Hold her hand. And tell her, “Ma, you don't have to pretendwith me. I know you're tired. I know you've cried. I know there are thingsyou don't tell us. But please, don't ever thinkyou failed becauseyou had daughters.” Because she didn't. She didn't fail. She raised us. She gave us opportunities. She sent us to good schools. She made surewe had what we needed. She gave us a childhoodthat did not feel likea struggle. And maybe that washer greatest sacrifice— she carried the struggleso we wouldn't have to. --- My mother didn't have enough. But we always had enough. And maybe that is the sentenceI will remember the most. Because now I understandwhat it really means. Enough was not sittingin the bank account. Enough was my motherfinding a way. Enough was her saying, “Don't worry.” Enough was her makingour problems look smallerthan they really were. Enough was her choosingto give us the besteven when she could havechosen to save herself. Enough was her waking upevery morningand trying again. --- I don't knowif my mother ever feltcompletely contented. I don't knowif there were nightsshe wished life had given hersomething different. I don't knowif she ever looked at usand quietly asked herself, “Is this enough?” But I hope she knows now. I hope she knowsthat when I look at her, I don't see a womanwho failed to have a son. I see my mother. The woman who gave mea life she could affordonly because she sacrificedparts of her own. The woman who made sureher daughters were educated. The woman who made surewe had enough. The woman who criedin secretand still came out smiling. The woman who had littleand somehow made it feellike plenty. --- And Ma, if you ever wonderedwhether we were enough, I wish you could see yourselfthrough my eyes. You gave us morethan school fees. You gave us security. You gave us memories. You gave us confidence. You gave us a reasonto believe that evenwhen life is hard, we will somehowfind a way through it. And if one dayI become everythingI dream of becoming, I hope you knowthat a part of itwill always belong to you. Because you may sayyou didn't have enough. But Ma, look at us. Look at your daughters. We are here. We are growing. We are becoming. And every time I look backat the little girl I used to be, I realize something— I was never lacking. Because my mothergave me enough. More than enough. She gave me herself. And maybe, that was the greatest thingshe could ever give.

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