“I had a very beautiful young mother a very long time ago in China,” Mr. Chen Yee sighed. “I just a small boy. She was carrying two loads, one on each side of a stick across her back. She so tired, and I also tired, so I pester her to carry me. She let me get up on her hip and I clung while she struggled to walk home, step by step,” he continued.
“She got us to our room, laid down on a mat on the floor. I sitting beside her, told her I was hungry. She reached inside her pocket, gave me a rice cake. It was all she had. I was eating, feeling safe, when she closed her eyes. Then she gave out a soft groan. Her eyes opened to look at me. She did not move again. She died right there. I remember every Mother's Day." The man’s eyes filled.
“She got us to our room, laid down on a mat on the floor. I sitting beside her, told her I was hungry. She reached inside her pocket, gave me a rice cake. It was all she had. I was eating, feeling safe, when she closed her eyes. Then she gave out a soft groan. Her eyes opened to look at me. She did not move again. She died right there. I remember every Mother's Day." The man’s eyes filled.
