In the night of  September the first. At 11pm or so.
The love of a mother came and rested upon me.
Your hands are rough and wrinkled. I felt it with my hands. You held me like that too. When I was little and young and didn't knew how hard it was for you to give birth to me.
You are so precious to me.
I held you tighter, slowly as tears went down my face. My heart filled with thankfulness.
Thank you. Mother.
For loving, caring for me.
For washing the dishes, and cooking me meals.
For paying the bills and bringing me to school.
For ironing my clothes. For scolding me too.
Thank God for you.
You would hold me and kiss me.
Like that night that I was sick.
I was a little kid back then. With a pad to cool my fever down.
You placed your hand on my forehead.
I still remember the sound you made when you rubbed your hand against my forehead.
When the childhood memories and fears came in.
Thank you. Mother.
One with such a beautiful heart. And hands that held me close.