My Mother's Secret

My mom and I look way too different. People often talk about the differences of our features and many have asked if I was adopted because I never had a single feature that looked similar to my mom. I even asked the credibility of my relationship to my mom and jokingly asked her if I was her real son, but she will answer me with warmth in her smile confirming that without no doubt, I came from her womb. Flesh and blood, she is my mother.

Though my question was unanswered the answer is very simple. If i did not inherit my mom's looks then, it must be my father. The one I never met. The man I never knew. Even his name is a mystery to me. Whenever I ask my mom about who my dad was, she will only smile at me at tell me that I should thank the heavens that I never met him. I didn't even have any photo of him. So I don't have any reason to miss him. My mother had me in her teens. So, I thought my father must have been young enough to take the responsibility. My relationship with my mom is very harmonious that I even regard her as a friend more than a mom. She raised me well even as a single parent. But there’s something she’s hiding from me. I knew because sometimes she would look at me for a very long time as if she was examining every detail of my face and she will then make this face I cannot comprehend. A look where she looked hurt. Gazing me with a sad eyes.

I guessed he remembered my father. I wanted to ask her about it. But I never did.

Just a week ago, she just died of an illness, but I know she lived her life well as she was smiling when she bid farewell to me while she was on her deathbed. 

Today, I am cleaning the room my mother used all her life. It has been decades since I moved out, but it still look the same. On top of the closet, was a wooden shoe box filled with letters and mails from the post office, so I thought I must throw them out. Not until I discovered that the lid of the box was altered. When I scratched it, it felt like two layers of a wooden plank. I forced it to open and it revealed an old envelope. Little did I know that what was inside it will break my heart.

Dear Son,

It has been a week since you moved out, but I never got to tell you the answers of the questions you seek the most. Because I love you and I am afraid that I will hurt you. So, if I will never have the chance to tell you this, at the very least this letter will tell you.

I am very sorry that I have to raise you without you knowing who your father was. It must have been hard to grow up without a father. You may never tell me, but I know it is, I too grew up without a dad. When I was young, I often dream of having a wonderful family and when that time comes, it will have a dad in it. But sometimes, things never go your way. 

When I was 16, I was gang raped. Four men abused me, tortured me, and threw me in the woods. I was lucky that I survived. But after I was rescued, I wished I were dead. The traumatic pain I received from what happened, the looks of everyone in my family judging me as a dirty woman, and most of all the fact that I was pregnant, pregnant with you, made me feel like my life was a living hell. The only thing that I remember that time is the face if my crying mother. 

Everyone in my family told me to terminate my pregnancy as it will only bring me pain. Some were religious enough to tell me not to kill you but put you up for adoption instead. My mind was in a mess, and even tried harming myself. The only thing that kept me going is my mom. She never left me. She never blamed me for what happened when everyone else turned their backs on me. So, when she told me to think about having an abortion, I listened. 

Then, you came. I was ready to give you away but when our eyes met, you smiled. You recognized your mother. I cried to my mom, hating myself for wanting to keep you. We both cried and made a life changing decision. I kept you.

You asked me why do I stare at you sometimes? You looked a lot like your father. Before I lost my consciousness, I recognized the face of the man who abused me the most. But as long as I’m alive, I will never tell you. I will keep this to myself because I know that you and that man were two different individuals. That man was raised by demons. I raised you. His sins were not yours. You don’t have to pay for them. Because during the time that I was in a mess, your smiles were my salvation. Thank you, my son, for saving me.

You may never have the chance to know the truth and for that I am very sorry. I don’t want you to live with guilt when I choose to raise you and shower you with love. Your origins might have been the darkest phase of my life, but having you were the brightest and probably the best part of my life.

Then, I remembered her last moments in the hospital. She gripped my hand tightly with all the strength she has left and look at me straight in the eye before leaving me her last message. The same exact words she wrote at last part of the letter. She said:

“My son, I did not regret having you.” 

Love,

Mom