Small misunderstandings may result in a lifetime of regrets.
This is for all the single, married, divorced, widowed individuals who take life for granted. Please read this story until the end; it is such an eye-opener.
You never know...
Just two years after our marriage, hubby brought up the idea of asking Mother to move from the rural hometown and spend her remaining years with us. Hubby's father passed away while he was still very young. Mother endured much hardship and struggled all on her own to provide for him, see him through to a university degree. You could say that she suffered a great deal and did everything you could expect of a woman to bring hubby to where he is today. I immediately agreed and started packing the spare room, which has a balcony facing the South to let her enjoy the sunshine and plant greenery. Hubby stood in the bright room and suddenly just picked me up and started spinning round and round. As I begged him to put me down, he said, "Let's go fetch mother."
Hubby is tall and big-sized, and I love to rest on his chest and enjoy the feeling that he could pick me up at any moment and put the tiny me into his pockets. Whenever we have an argument and both refuse to back down, he would pick me up and spin me over his head continuously until I surrender and beg for mercy. I became addicted to this kind of panic-joy feeling.
Mother brought along her countryside habits and lifestyle with her. For example, I am so used to buying flowers to decorate the living room; she could not stand it and would comment, "I do not know how you young people spend your money. Why do you buy flowers for? You also can't eat flowers!" I smiled and said, "Mum, with flowers in the house, our mood will also become better." Mother continues to grumble away, and hubby smiled, "Mum, this is a city-people's habit; slowly you will get used to it." Mother stopped saying anything.
But every time thereafter, whenever I came home with flowers, she would ask me how much it costs. I told her, and she would shake her head and express displeasure. Sometimes, when I come home with lots of shopping bags, she would ask about each item's cost, I would tell her honestly, and she would get even more upset about it. Hubby playfully pinched my nose and said, "You little fool, just don't tell her the full price of everything; it would solve it." There begins the friction in our otherwise happy lifestyle.
Mother hates it most when hubby wakes up early to prepare breakfast. In her view, how could the man of the house cook for the wife? At the breakfast table, mother's facial expression is always like the dark clouds before a thunderstorm, and I would pretend not to notice. She would use her chopsticks and make a lot of noise with them as her silent protest. As I am a dance teacher in the Children's Palace and am exhausted from a long day of dancing around, I do not wish to give up the luxury of that additional few minutes in the comfort of my bed, and hence I turned a deaf ear to all the protests mother makes.
From time to time, mother would help out with some housework, but soon her help created additional work for me. For example, she would keep all kinds of plastic bags, accumulating them so that she could sell them later on, resulting in our house being filled with all the trash bags; she would scrimp on dishwashing detergent when helping to wash the dishes, and so as not to hurt her feelings, I would quietly wash them again. One day, late at night, mother saw me quietly washing the dishes, and "Bam," she slammed her bedroom door and cried very loudly in her room. Hubby was placed in a difficult position, and after that, he did not speak to me for that entire night. I pretended to be a spoilt child, tried acting cute, but he totally ignored me. I got mad and asked him, "What did I do wrong?" Hubby stared at me and said, "Can't you just give in to her once? We couldn't possibly die from eating from a bowl, however unclean it is, right?" After that incident, for a long period of time, mother did not speak to me, and you could feel that there is a very awkward feeling hanging in the house.
During that period of cold war, hubby was caught in a dilemma as to who to please. In order to stop her son from having to prepare breakfast, mother took on the "all-important" task of preparing breakfast without any prompting. At the breakfast table, mother would look at hubby happily eating his breakfast and cast that reprimanding stare at me for having failed to perform my duty as a wife. To avoid the embarrassing breakfast situation, I resorted to buying my breakfast on my way to work. That night, while in bed, hubby was a little upset and asked me, "LD, is it because you think that mum's cooking is not clean that you chose not to eat at home?" He then turned his back on me and left me alone in tears as the feeling of unfairness overwhelmed me. After some time, hubby sighed, "LD, just for me, can you have breakfast at home?" I am left with no choice but to return to the breakfast table.
The next morning, I was having porridge prepared by mother, and I felt a sudden churn in my stomach, and everything inside seemed to be rushing up my throat. I tried to suppress the urge to throw up, but I could not. I threw down the bowl, rushed into the washroom, and vomited everything out. Just as I was catching my breath, I saw mother crying and grumbling very loudly in her dialect; hubby was standing at the washroom doorway staring at me with fire burning in his eyes. I opened my mouth, but no words came out of it; I really did not mean it.
We had our very first big fight that day; mother took a look at us, then stood up and slowly made her way out of the house. Hubby gave me a final stare in the eye and followed mother down the stairs. For three days, hubby did not return home, not even a phone call. I was so furious; since mother arrived, I had been trying my best and putting up with her. What else do you want me to do? For no reason, I keep having the feeling to throw up, and I simply have no appetite for food, coupled with all the events happening at home, I was at then low point in my life. Finally, a colleague said, "LD, you look terrible; you should go and see a doctor." The doctor confirmed that I am pregnant.
Now it became clear to me why I threw up that fateful morning, a sense of sadness floated through that otherwise happy news. Why didn't hubby, and mother who had been through this before, think of the possibility of this being the reason that day? At the hospital entrance, I saw my hubby standing there. It had only been three days, but he looked haggard. I had wanted to turn and leave, but one look at him, and my heart softened. I couldn't resist and called out to him. He followed my voice and finally found me, but he pretended that he doesn't know me; he has that disgusted look in his eyes that cut right through my heart. I told myself not to look at him anymore and hailed a cab. At that moment, I have such a strong urge inside me to shout to my hubby, "Darling, I am having your baby!" and have him lift me up and spin me around in circles of joy. What I wanted didn't happen, and as I sat in the cab, my tears started rolling down. Why? Why couldn't our love even withstand the test of one fight?
Back home, I lay on the bed thinking about my hubby, and the disgusted look in his eyes. I cried and wet the corner of the blanket. That night, the sound of the drawers opening woke me up. I switched on the lights, and I saw hubby with tears rolling down his face. He was removing the money. I stared at him in silence; he ignored me, took the bank deposit book and some money and left the house. Maybe he really intends to leave me for good. What a rational man, so clear-cut in love and money matters. I gave a few dry laughs, and tears started streaming down again.
The next day, I did not go to work. I wanted to clear this out and have a good talk with hubby. I reached his office, and his secretary gave me a weird look and said, "Mr. Tan's mother had a traffic accident and is now in the hospital." I stood there in shock. I rushed to the hospital, and by the time I found hubby, mother had already passed away. Hubby did not look at me; his face was expressionless. I looked at mother's pale white and thin face, and I couldn't control the tears in my eyes. My god, how could this happen?
Throughout the funeral, hubby did not say a single word to me, with only the occasional disgusted stare at me. I only managed to find out brief facts about the accident from other people. That day, after mother left the house, she walked in a daze toward the bus stop, apparently intending to go back to her old house back in the countryside. As hubby ran after her, she tried to walk faster, and as she tried to cross the street, a public bus came and hit her...I finally understood how much hubby must hate me if I had not thrown up that morning, if we had not quarreled, if....In his heart, I am indirectly the killer of his mother.
Hubby moved into mother's room and came home every night with a
This is for all the single, married, divorced, widowed individuals who take life for granted. Please read this story until the end; it is such an eye-opener.
You never know...
Just two years after our marriage, hubby brought up the idea of asking Mother to move from the rural hometown and spend her remaining years with us. Hubby's father passed away while he was still very young. Mother endured much hardship and struggled all on her own to provide for him, see him through to a university degree. You could say that she suffered a great deal and did everything you could expect of a woman to bring hubby to where he is today. I immediately agreed and started packing the spare room, which has a balcony facing the South to let her enjoy the sunshine and plant greenery. Hubby stood in the bright room and suddenly just picked me up and started spinning round and round. As I begged him to put me down, he said, "Let's go fetch mother."
Hubby is tall and big-sized, and I love to rest on his chest and enjoy the feeling that he could pick me up at any moment and put the tiny me into his pockets. Whenever we have an argument and both refuse to back down, he would pick me up and spin me over his head continuously until I surrender and beg for mercy. I became addicted to this kind of panic-joy feeling.
Mother brought along her countryside habits and lifestyle with her. For example, I am so used to buying flowers to decorate the living room; she could not stand it and would comment, "I do not know how you young people spend your money. Why do you buy flowers for? You also can't eat flowers!" I smiled and said, "Mum, with flowers in the house, our mood will also become better." Mother continues to grumble away, and hubby smiled, "Mum, this is a city-people's habit; slowly you will get used to it." Mother stopped saying anything.
But every time thereafter, whenever I came home with flowers, she would ask me how much it costs. I told her, and she would shake her head and express displeasure. Sometimes, when I come home with lots of shopping bags, she would ask about each item's cost, I would tell her honestly, and she would get even more upset about it. Hubby playfully pinched my nose and said, "You little fool, just don't tell her the full price of everything; it would solve it." There begins the friction in our otherwise happy lifestyle.
Mother hates it most when hubby wakes up early to prepare breakfast. In her view, how could the man of the house cook for the wife? At the breakfast table, mother's facial expression is always like the dark clouds before a thunderstorm, and I would pretend not to notice. She would use her chopsticks and make a lot of noise with them as her silent protest. As I am a dance teacher in the Children's Palace and am exhausted from a long day of dancing around, I do not wish to give up the luxury of that additional few minutes in the comfort of my bed, and hence I turned a deaf ear to all the protests mother makes.
From time to time, mother would help out with some housework, but soon her help created additional work for me. For example, she would keep all kinds of plastic bags, accumulating them so that she could sell them later on, resulting in our house being filled with all the trash bags; she would scrimp on dishwashing detergent when helping to wash the dishes, and so as not to hurt her feelings, I would quietly wash them again. One day, late at night, mother saw me quietly washing the dishes, and "Bam," she slammed her bedroom door and cried very loudly in her room. Hubby was placed in a difficult position, and after that, he did not speak to me for that entire night. I pretended to be a spoilt child, tried acting cute, but he totally ignored me. I got mad and asked him, "What did I do wrong?" Hubby stared at me and said, "Can't you just give in to her once? We couldn't possibly die from eating from a bowl, however unclean it is, right?" After that incident, for a long period of time, mother did not speak to me, and you could feel that there is a very awkward feeling hanging in the house.
During that period of cold war, hubby was caught in a dilemma as to who to please. In order to stop her son from having to prepare breakfast, mother took on the "all-important" task of preparing breakfast without any prompting. At the breakfast table, mother would look at hubby happily eating his breakfast and cast that reprimanding stare at me for having failed to perform my duty as a wife. To avoid the embarrassing breakfast situation, I resorted to buying my breakfast on my way to work. That night, while in bed, hubby was a little upset and asked me, "LD, is it because you think that mum's cooking is not clean that you chose not to eat at home?" He then turned his back on me and left me alone in tears as the feeling of unfairness overwhelmed me. After some time, hubby sighed, "LD, just for me, can you have breakfast at home?" I am left with no choice but to return to the breakfast table.
The next morning, I was having porridge prepared by mother, and I felt a sudden churn in my stomach, and everything inside seemed to be rushing up my throat. I tried to suppress the urge to throw up, but I could not. I threw down the bowl, rushed into the washroom, and vomited everything out. Just as I was catching my breath, I saw mother crying and grumbling very loudly in her dialect; hubby was standing at the washroom doorway staring at me with fire burning in his eyes. I opened my mouth, but no words came out of it; I really did not mean it.
We had our very first big fight that day; mother took a look at us, then stood up and slowly made her way out of the house. Hubby gave me a final stare in the eye and followed mother down the stairs. For three days, hubby did not return home, not even a phone call. I was so furious; since mother arrived, I had been trying my best and putting up with her. What else do you want me to do? For no reason, I keep having the feeling to throw up, and I simply have no appetite for food, coupled with all the events happening at home, I was at then low point in my life. Finally, a colleague said, "LD, you look terrible; you should go and see a doctor." The doctor confirmed that I am pregnant.
Now it became clear to me why I threw up that fateful morning, a sense of sadness floated through that otherwise happy news. Why didn't hubby, and mother who had been through this before, think of the possibility of this being the reason that day? At the hospital entrance, I saw my hubby standing there. It had only been three days, but he looked haggard. I had wanted to turn and leave, but one look at him, and my heart softened. I couldn't resist and called out to him. He followed my voice and finally found me, but he pretended that he doesn't know me; he has that disgusted look in his eyes that cut right through my heart. I told myself not to look at him anymore and hailed a cab. At that moment, I have such a strong urge inside me to shout to my hubby, "Darling, I am having your baby!" and have him lift me up and spin me around in circles of joy. What I wanted didn't happen, and as I sat in the cab, my tears started rolling down. Why? Why couldn't our love even withstand the test of one fight?
Back home, I lay on the bed thinking about my hubby, and the disgusted look in his eyes. I cried and wet the corner of the blanket. That night, the sound of the drawers opening woke me up. I switched on the lights, and I saw hubby with tears rolling down his face. He was removing the money. I stared at him in silence; he ignored me, took the bank deposit book and some money and left the house. Maybe he really intends to leave me for good. What a rational man, so clear-cut in love and money matters. I gave a few dry laughs, and tears started streaming down again.
The next day, I did not go to work. I wanted to clear this out and have a good talk with hubby. I reached his office, and his secretary gave me a weird look and said, "Mr. Tan's mother had a traffic accident and is now in the hospital." I stood there in shock. I rushed to the hospital, and by the time I found hubby, mother had already passed away. Hubby did not look at me; his face was expressionless. I looked at mother's pale white and thin face, and I couldn't control the tears in my eyes. My god, how could this happen?
Throughout the funeral, hubby did not say a single word to me, with only the occasional disgusted stare at me. I only managed to find out brief facts about the accident from other people. That day, after mother left the house, she walked in a daze toward the bus stop, apparently intending to go back to her old house back in the countryside. As hubby ran after her, she tried to walk faster, and as she tried to cross the street, a public bus came and hit her...I finally understood how much hubby must hate me if I had not thrown up that morning, if we had not quarreled, if....In his heart, I am indirectly the killer of his mother.
Hubby moved into mother's room and came home every night with a